Anon
by The Scarlet Quill
Summary: Trapped in the tallest tower at Malfoy Manor, Hermione is forced to play puppet in a deadly plot. She has one week to halt the matrimonial trap, but with the cruel Draco Malfoy watching her every move, can Hermione rescue her own Happily Ever After?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Kidnapped**

Hermione struggled against her attacker.

"Let me go!" A squeal followed the solemn petition, as she was promptly kicked below the back of her knee. She slid to the filthy stone floor, crumpling in a heap.

"Get up mudblood," the harsh warlock thundered. In one hand he grasped his wand, a blacked and twisted shard of wood that had been manipulated with pure malice.

"Deaf are we? I SAID GET UP! _CRUCIO_!"

White, hot pain speared through Hermiones fragile body. She shrieked in agony. The wizard laughed. With his free hand he pushed his dirty blonde hair away from his sweat streaked face.

"Hurt deary?" He crooned.

A twitching ball, Hermione huddled. Tears spilled from her big brown eyes. A swift kick silenced her movements. The man reached down and grabbed at her arm. His nails dug into her porcelain skin so pale from too many hours locked away, pouring over books. He pulled her up, once again attempting the stoned staircase she had fought so hard against.

"N-n-no!" She stuttered, "please, n-no, Lucius."

Hermiones cries went ignored. Lucius Malfoy was a determined being. Once his mind was set, not a thing could it alter its path of thought. He dragged Hermione to the top of the spiral staircase, to a heavy wooden door with a brass handle. It was with numb acceptance that she noted the thick brass handle and lock. Lucius pointed his wand at the door. The lock unclenched from its rusted state and swung free. His right leg came up, kicking the door open.

"In," he grunted.

A movement, radiating ominous finales, flung Hermione into the tower room. She thumped to the floor. Lucius wiped his perspiring forehead on his robes sleeve.

"Your new chambers, m'lady," he sneered. Hermione struggled to get up, to run for the open doorway, to escape but the pain culled her feeble attempts. The door closed. The malicious laughter that echoed from beyond provided the perfect rhythm to cradle Hermiones sobbing. Sheer exhaustion overwhelmed her. So it was that she fell into a slumber deeper than the oceans, locked away from the world, in a lonely castle tower, awaiting her knight in shining amour.

-----

Hermione awoke in a cold sweat. She lifted her stiff, small frame from the floor and attempted to stand on shaky legs. The room was dark. Hermiones swollen eyes endeavored to make out her surroundings. She reached for the wall- a prop to support her.

"_Lumos_," she muttered.

The room remained shrouded in blackness. Hermiones sweaty hands struggled to keep a hold on the wall.

"_Lumos_." Again, nothing happened.

"_LUMOS_!" Hermione bellowed. Her palms slid against the stones grime. Dull realization set in: the spell had not worked because she did not have her wand in her hand. Her wand wasn't in her hand because…

"I don't have my wand," she cried, "I don't have my wand." Hermione shook violently with hysterical laughter.

"I don't HAVE my WAND!"

Hermione laughed and laughed. She laughed until it hurt. She lost her grip on the wall completely and toppled to the floor.

"I don't have my wand," she squeaked.

Hermione bent double. She threw up.

Thoughts chased each other around the crooks of her mind.

_I was asleep…at…where? The Burrow. I was staying in Ginnys room. Bill and Fleurs wedding tomorrow…no, it would have been…today? I missed it…I wonder if…they missed me? I wonder if Ron…And then what? I woke…Someone was calling for me downstairs…outside…and I went…And then…I was here…_

Hermione forced herself to stand again.

"I need light," she murmured. Instantly, the room flooded with light.

Hermione gaped in shock. Not only had the room lit at her command, it had revealed to her a wealth of lavish beauty. She stood at the end of a short hall- the room's entryway. The chapel high ceilings created the air of a spacious dominion. A golden chandelier decorated above. Against the right wall rested a large four-poster bed. Carved mahogany pillars stretched up to the roof. Dark red velvet curtains were held back with thick embroider ribbon, gold in its colorings. The linen was a suiting red and gold.

Hermione canvassed the remainder of the room. Upon the stone floor lay a rug, fat with soft red wool. To her left a cozy fireplace burned merrily. Next to it stood a large bookshelf, filled with book upon beautiful. Hermione took a tentative step towards it. If this room was to be her prison, as she had much expected, then why had it been so beautifully presented? A large arch window seat faced her. Hermione quickened her pace. She met the bookshelf with enthusiasm. Her hands caressed its carvings. The books seemed to be chorusing to be heard. Read me, read me, they seemed to be saying. Hermione selected a thick blue title, and padded the short distance to the window seat. She nestled in, tucking her legs up onto the couch. The window was wooded, in similar style to the door. Hermione was positive that if she tried the lock, it would not budge. The window would remain purposefully closed. The book felt slightly heavy in her hands. It was a comforting weight reminding her that this was not just a very bad nightmare in which she had been kidnapped by the foulest of all wizarding families (for purposes unknown), but a bone chilling reality. Hermione shivered. Her nightdress was soaked with sweat. Once it had been a long, white lacy piece that ran down to her ankles. Now it was a dirty rag, ripped and torn. It barely covered her knees. Somewhere between The Burrow and here it had been badly injured, much like Hermione's presently weakened spirit.

Hermione bowed her head. She leaned into the book, longing for it to console her pain.

"…Once upon a time…"

It was a children's tale, somewhat similar to a muggle one Hermione had read when she was young. The tale centered on a witch princess who was stolen away from her kingdom. She was locked in the tallest tower of the evilest castle where no one could hear her cries for savior (this was, as the book described, because of severe silencing spells cast upon the towers walls). Hermione thought it was slightly ironic that she would select this of all novels to savor. The situation was not entirely unfamiliar.

She read on, intrigued as to see what would become of this 'witch princess.'

"…For a long while she remained trapped alone in the tower with nought for company but forsaken rodents…"

The next line was slightly blurred. Hermione spoke the verse out loud in an effort to comprehend its meaning.

"…Until he, no- the, the day a young soonal the evil warlock greeted her chambers.."

Hermione puzzled over 'soonal.' It was a word she had never heard of before. Perhaps she had misread the inky blot…

A sudden scrapping from outside intercepted Hermiones thoughts. The door clicked open. Footsteps in the small entry hall, and then…

"Draco Malfoy!" Hermione shrieked, dropping her book.

The boy was about sixteen or so, with the generic pale blonde hair common of his family. He stood tall and menacing with a sneer plastered across his face- another Malfoy trait. He was the arch nemesis of Harry, Ron and Hermione. The sight of him angered Hermione even more so now, for he had recently assisted in their beloved Headmaster Dumbledores death. The very thought bought a fresh wave of hot stingy tears to her eyes.

"Murderer!" She burbled.

Draco waved his hand, as if to will away the suggestion.

"Mudblood," he spat.

He took a step forwards and went flying. Hermione noted that the results of her nervous state had reaped some reward. Draco had slipped in her vomit. He lay with his back to the ground, groaning.

"Eee, what's this?" He bristled.

Hermione smirked. A small triumph it may have been, but a triumph nonetheless. Draco pushed himself up. He sniffed at his sodden sleeve.

"Granger you filth!" He roared, "you've puked on me!"

"No, Malfoy, the only filth here is you. And no, I did not 'puke' as such on you, I vomited where you are currently lying. If you chose to roll around in it well, that's hardly my responsibility."

Draco whipped his wand out, whirled it around himself twice and the sickly substance vanished. Next, he aimed his wand at the remainder of the puddle on the floor. It too, disappeared. Draco turned towards her, his eyes glaring. Hermione suddenly felt quite afraid.

"You Mudblood, you make me ashamed to cast magic," Malfoy stalked over to her.

He bent, snatching up the book she had dropped at the sight of him.

"A little reading, Granger? Let's see now…"

Hermione made a grab for the book. Draco held it high out of reach.

"Uh uh uh, not for naughty little mudbloods," he chastened.

Hermione overstretched for it and fell off the window seat. Draco cackled.

"…Once upon a time…" He began.

Hermione blushed scarlet.

"Give it, Malfoy!" She demanded.

Draco sidestepped her grab.

"Ooo, little mudblood dreams off knights in shining robes, does she?" He cackled,

"Fairytales for whittle baby muggles about princes and princesses, and happy little families…" His voice trailed off.

Hermione seized her chance whilst he was temporarily distracted. She delivered a swift blow to his shin. Draco dropped the book. He grabbed at his leg, hopping in pain.

"Ow, ow, ow! You stupid bucktoothed bookworm!"

Hermione snatched at the book. She grasped it tightly to her chest.

"That's it!" Draco roared, "I've had it!"

He waved his wand at Hermione.

"Accio book!"

Hermione struggled to keep her hold, but the spell was too powerful. Draco won the tug of war. The book whizzed over to his outstretched left hand.

"Gotcha," he blared.

With measured force he slung the book into the fireplace. He grabbed Hermiones arm. He dragged her up.

Hermione fought as he pulled her to the fireplace. For a fleeting moment Hermione feared he would through her in as well.

"Look!" He snarled.

An antique mirror hung over the fireplace mantle. The reflection before her was sad.

Her bushy brown hair was matted with dirt and blood. Freckled face was littered with small cuts and her left eye was bruised.

Draco threw her to the floor.

"You've never been much of a girl Granger, but at least you always looked half decent."

Hermiones blood boiled.

"I've just been KIDNAPPED. You PIG!" She screeched.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, whatever. Look, clean yourself up. Then we'll talk," he drawled.

He pointed his wand in the direction of the mantle once again.

"Fifth stone to the left is loose." With that cryptical statement Draco left. The door locked behind him. Hermione picked herself off the floor. Off all the people to kidnap her, she had to be kidnapped by him.

Hermione lingered in her state of furious confusion. Draco had refused to offer any sort of explanation for her capture until she was 'gussied up.' Wasn't that always the way? Hermione thought somewhat bitterly, boys only ever want to talk to 'pretty' girls.

"And I'm not pretty," Hermione whispered.

She shook her head. This wasn't the time for an analysis of her complexion. Besides, Harry and Ron had never fussed over how she looked. All those times before when she had been cut and bruised, the only thing she could recall them asking was, "you all right, Mione?" not "did you upset a particularly nasty troll?"

Hermione shook her head, clearing her cluttered thoughts.

"Fifth stone to the left…hmm, some sort of trap door clue?" She pondered.

The fifth stone to the left on the mantle looked slightly out of place indeed, compared with its surrounding counterparts. Soft fingertips brushed over the stone. Hermione took hold. She gave a mighty pull on the loose stone. A 'click' sounded from behind, an indication that the mechanicals behind the fireplace were whirring into action.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

**'Bathies'**

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. The fire crackled out, leaving the slightly charred remains of the fairytale book Draco had thrown in. Hermione bent, collecting the book. She brushed the ash off the cover. It looked a little tatty. Hermione flicked through the book. Some of the pages had been blackened, but apart from that it looked reasonably well. The mechanicals of the fireplace released a further grind of the cogs, and the fireplace slid aside revealing a gaping hole. Hermione tucked the book under her arm. She elicited a lone candle from the set decorating the mantle. It's merry flame lit her way down the couple of steps leading into the hidden room. Once Hermione was certain that she had reached a level landing she blew her candle out.

Please let this work, she thought wistfully.

"I wish there was light."

Hermiones assumption had been sound. Light flooded the small room at her command. Its interior was exposed; it was a small, yet incredibly luxurious, bathroom.

Gold embroidered towels, with hints of red, hung upon gold rods. A small sink and mirror, in gold and marble, christened the left. Whilst a small bath-pool, reminiscent of the one Hermione had used in the Prefects Bathroom, sat central to the room.

A little door on the far wall lead (or so Hermione guessed) to the toilets.

With a little cry, Hermione flung herself into the room. She first checked on her suspicions regarding the little door. Next, she was to turn on every tap the mini bath-pool had. A wide variety of colorful fragrances soon filled the air. When she was confident that the bath had been filled to her supreme satisfaction, Hermione slipped her raggedy nightdress over her head, set her book down by the sink, and slipped into the comforting waters.

She sighed, "ahhhh, so nice."

The warm waters eased her stinging bruises. Hermione waded towards the hot water tap. She turned once, twice, three times and the water flow halted. Hermione ducked her in the tub. When she resurfaced a not so comforting sight greeted her.

"GET OUT!" She shrieked.

Draco lent against the sink, pretending to inspect his fingernails.

"Now, now, I haven't seen anything even remotely interesting," he smirked.

Hermione lowered herself so that she could be certain the bubbles hid all but her head.

"MALFOY!"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"If you didn't want me to visit, then why did you leave the door open you silly Mudblood?"

Hermione groaned. She had, in a way, left the door open. She had thought the fireplace would automatically close behind her, sealing the entry to the passageway. Instead, it had remained very much open. In her haste to explore the bathroom, she had forgotten to check.

"You should have the manners to know not to walk in, whether the doors open or not," she huffed.

Not only was she feeling furious with Malfoy, but also with herself for behaving so stupidly.

Draco laughed, "oh come now. It's not as if I'd want to look at you anyway Granger. You're so…ugly?"

Hermione felt as though Malfoy had slapped her.

Tears welled up. Too proud to let Malfoy see her cry, she gulped air and sunk to the bottom of the pool.

_Obnoxious pig_, she thought.

When she broke surface, gasping for air, he was gone. Hermione was left floating. Somehow, the bath didn't seem as entirely as comforting as it had been before.


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione glanced around the room. The steam had dispersed. Once again, Hermione was treated to full view of the lavish bathroom. Her eyes trawled the room, absorbing its beauties…the marble sink, mirror, bare towel rods…

_Bare towel rods_? Hermione thought.

She ducked under the water, muffling her frustrated screams.

The towel rods, had of course, been un-bare when she had first entered the bathroom. She recalled the towels in extensive detail- red ones, to match the linen upstairs, with little gold M embroiders in their corners. Malfoy must have taken it upon himself to remove them whilst she had been blowing bubbles at his 'ugly' comment. Hermione hovered near the bottom of the bath (she had been astounded to find that thinking underwater was rather relaxing). _He'll have to give them back sometime, surely he will,_ she thought hopefully, _until then, I'll be safe and sound in here amongst the foam._

Breath running out, Hermione pushed off from the tubs base, angling for the surface. Her foot missed its mark, and instead of kicking against the soapy tile, Hermione hit the plug. The plugs chain snaked around her foot and as quick as Hermione tried to free herself the quicker she became tangled. She gasped, swallowing a mouthful of water. Black dots painted her vision.

_I'm drowning_, she thought, _in a bathtub_.

Hermione floundered. She gave a last, hearty kick, and on that final burst of strength forced herself upwards. The plug, now attached to her ankle, let out a sucking shriek. Water instantly spiraled into the gaping plughole. Hermione surged above spinning the water. She gulped air. Weary, she hauled herself to the edge off the pool. The water level steadily lowered, each inch revealing more of herself than she could ever have possibly wanted.

_So much for staying safe and sound beneath the bubbles_, she thought. If the water got any lower not only would it leave her trapped at the bottom of the bath, it would leave her naked. She eyed the stairs leading up to the tower room.

_If you open that door while I'm climbing out Malfoy, I will personally see to it that you die in a very painful manner._

Gingerly, she placed a soapy palm against the bath edge. Much huffing and puffing ensued. Without the buoyancy that the water had offered, Hermione had to leverage herself. Her legs kicked at the wall, searching for a dent or crack with which she could steady herself. A lengthy trial of this eventually lead to some success. She climbed out.

She scuttled over to the sink, where her book lay unopened. It was, as far as books went, quite large. Hermione folded it out. She placed it over her middle with the charred pages flared. The overall effect hid most of Hermiones middle, from just below her shoulders to quite a fair way up her knees. Resignedly, Hermione ascended the stairs. The door slid open before her. She stepped into the room, her eyes down, book grasped tightly to her chest. Malfoy lay resting upon the bed. The towels were on the floor.

He looked up from the book he was reading (or, as Hermione suspected, pretending to read for lack of brain cells) and broke into a roar of laughter.

Hermione blushed furiously. She bent and retrieved a towel from the floor. She whipped it around herself, book and all.

"You pervert," she shot.

Draco ignored her. He was wrapped up in his chuckling.

"You- you- you- HA! Granger!"

Draco rolled off the bed, still shaking with laughter. Hermione stamped her foot.

"Listen to me! No! Stop! It's not funny! DRACO!"

Draco snapped out of his hysteria. He stood, collecting himself.

He smirked, "so sorry Mudblood, forgot who I was dealing with, Miss-I-Don't-Do-funny-Granger. You always have to be so smart, don't you? Who knew you'd smuggle a book into THE BATHROOM of all places. If it wasnt for that, I would've had you at my mercy. I would've had you naked."

At this comment Draco snorted once-more. Hermione glared.

"Enough! Enough of this game playing garbage. Tell me now! NOW! What the hell is going on here?"

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Fine by me. At least you're showered now. And decently dressed, well, sort of," Draco glanced at Hermiones towel.

"At least you're in better shape than you were a half hour ago," he drawled.

"Malfoy!"

"Okay, okay, Mudblood."

Hermione winced.

"Father received orders from the Dark Lord to kidnap you. Don't look at me! It's not my wretched fault you're here. If I had my way you and your little Potter and Weasley would've died with D-Dumbledore."

Hermione frowned, had Draco just paled? He certainly looked paler than normal, at any rate.

Draco rushed on, "It was the Dark lords wish that you be kidnapped, and held hostage here, Malfoy Manor. It wasn't all easy. Father had a terrible time attempting to locate that shack that they live in, what is it? The S-Bend?"

"The Burrow," Hermione corrected.

"Whatever. Father searched for it, and after some time, eventually found the hole. With the new powers the Lord had bestowed upon him, well, it was easy to get past the simple security spells placed on the house. All that was left was for him to sneak in one night, and hoodwink you. You were under a Lostrinta Charm by the way, that's why you can't remember anything between going to sleep at one place and waking in another. Quite clever, wasn't it?" Draco finished.

Hermione fought against her rising temper.

"But why? Why am I here? Why me, and not-"

"Don't you get it Hermione, The Dark Lord can't touch Potter, but he can touch you. You're here because The Dark Lord can use you to get to Harry."

The truth crashed down upon Hermione.

She was, in short, bait.

"You'll be placed in a circumstance in which Hero, and no doubt his bumbling idiot Weasley, won't be able to resist. They'll come trumpets blazing- brave Harry is fond of himself- to your 'rescue.' Master will have planned it so that your pal will be placed in an extremely vulnerable position, he'll be weak and easy,"

Draco grinned, his white teeth matching his pale demeanor.

Hermione sniffed. She held back tears. Curiosity pounding in time with her fast beating heart, she forced her voice to steady as she asked,

"W-what sort of circumstance?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**A Joyous Occasion**

"W-what sort of circumstance?"

Draco struggled against himself. His paled face compared with his malicious grin, sparked signs of contradiction.

"Well,"

Hermione asked again, "What sort of circumstance?"

Draco lost the silent battle. His smug look slid off his face, only to be replaced with a look of panic.

"F-father, well, it's only a charade, a charade. A-"

"Malfoy, tell me!"

"The Dark lord thinks that Harry's in love with you,"

Hermione gave a bark of laughter. Her worry subsided into shrill giggles.

"Me? And Harry?"

Draco pressed on, "I know it's ridiculous Granger, even you wouldn't sink as low as that pompous buffoon, but I could hardly argue that with Voldemort now could I? Shut UP!"

Hermione quieted.

"Even if you're not in love, it doesn't matter, he'll still come to your pathetic rescue because he's your 'friend.'"

"The circumstance Malfoy?"

"Yeah, fine. Master thinks Potter's in whatever with you, of all people, and so he decides upon this plan. He thinks the perfect circumstance in which Potter'll surely rise to the occasion is a joyous occasion."

Hermione froze.

"The Dark Lord plans to stage a set-up wedding, for you and…"

Malfoy shuddered.

"…Me. Potter will of course, be leaked this information via our Order of the Phoenix insider, along with the location, time, etc. He'll rise to the bait, no question about it, and come to 'rescue' you away from me. Focused on you, not on The Dark Lord, he'll be so steeped in rage that he'll be completely blind as to what is really going on. Which is to say, the assassination of himself."

Hermione gaped, speechless.

Draco growled, "I loathe you Granger. Not love, loathe. Don't ever, EVER, get the two mixed up. This is a plan, a clever plan, in which I must take part,"

Hermione repeated numbly, "a plan in which I must take part."

_How could she do that to Harry? To…Ron?_

She shook herself. Defiance stoked a fire within. It bubbled, angry and spitting.

She threw back her head and roared, "NEVER!"

Draco folded his arms across his chest, resuming his usual calm, arrogant manner.

"You don't exactly have a choice here! Neither did I for that matter…you think I wanted this? I NEVER WANTED THIS!"

He turned on his heel. Hermione watched him stalk to the miniature hall and enter. His footsteps echoed upon the cobbled stone. She heard them halt, the door squeaked open and slam shut. He had gone.

Hermione stared at the floor. She pulled at her towel, tightening it.

_A plan in which I must take part…_

_What if she refused? What was the worst they could do to her? The Unthinkable…the Unforgivable…._Hermione recalled a certain Defence Against the Dark Arts class with sudden terror._ Avada Kedavra. The curse of death. Cruciatus. The curse of pain. Lucius had already introduced her to that particular courses result._

_And that leaves…The Imperius Curse_.

"If I refuse to do it on my own free will, they'll make me do it under someone elses…" She said outloud.

The Imperius Curse, when placed upon a person, had frightening effects. It enabled the spells caster complete control of the bewitched soul.

Hermiones mind whirred into action. She calculated the benefits, the possibilities, the consequences of her refusing to play her part. Refusal would ultimately result in her playing bride under the Imperius Curse. She would lose complete control over herself, Voldemort could make her do anything he wished. When her task was complete, and Harry had been drawn into the trap, The Dark lord would probably have her dispose of herself.

However, if she accepted…she could _play_ at being puppet. Doing exactly as they wished of her whilst still retaining a mind of her own. She could plot, plan, escape, warn the others.

Hermione smiled. She had found the solution she longed for. Yes, she would accept Malfoys outrageous proposal, and yes, she would do as was required, but only until the time came for her to rescue herself, along with her Knights in shining Robes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**Sleeping Beauty**

Hermione stared down at her towel. She had been holding it so tightly to herself that it had begun to cut into her skin. She loosened it, creating a makeshift toga. The remaining towels lay scattered at her feet. She bent to retrieve them. Underneath the pile laid her shabby nightdress. It was blood stained and smelt of stinging flesh. A memory flashed before Hermione- Lucius drapped over her, screaming "_Crucio! Crucio_!" The pain had been unbearable. A million knives, white hot, searing into her skin.

Hermione shook her head, clearing the throbbing recollection. What she needed was a distraction… Hermione returned the towels to their gold hangers in the hidden bathroom. She filled the marble sink with hot soapy water and dunked her nightdress in.

_If this is all I have to wear I might as well try to make it look 'half decent,'_ she thought to herself. In her minds eye she saw Malfoy, standing before her.

"_You've never been much of a girl Granger, but at least you always looked half dec_ent."

How long would she have to live trapped in this wretched tower with Malfoy alone for company? Malfoy with his wounding jibes. His cruel mocking laugh. And she had to play happy go lucky bride to be? The very idea made her choke with laughter. Hermione couldn't imagine anyone ever wanting to marry such an arrogant fool. Let alone, such an arrogant fool wanting to marry anyone else…_I wonder, what exactly does a wizard marriage ceremony involve?_ She had, of course, been kidnapped on the eve of Bill and Fleur's wedding and so had missed the chance to witness the event. _Time will tell…_

The nightdress washed, Hermione wrung it out. She returned to the tower room, and placed it over fireplace mantle to dry. The room stood silent. The only sound was the crackling fire sparking against its stony barrier.

"What shall I do now?" Hermione spoke openly, attempting to create some type of friendly atmosphere. She couldn't be certain(for the window was shut and covered) of what time of day it was, but the eerie lull of silence which hung heavy in the still air suggested the sun had set. It was evening. Nighttime. And Hermione was alone.

The room suddenly felt binding; the fierce lights of the candles could do nothing to restrain the thick coating of darkness seeping into the hollow room. Slipping through the cracks. Penetrating the warmth. Hermione's breathing pace increased. She was gasping for air. What horrors lurked beyond the shadows? Her brown eyes darted across the room. They eventually came to rest upon the fairytale book. Hermione had left it on the bed when she had gone downstairs to clean. Gingerly, she tiptoed over to it. With dexterity that surprised herself, Hermione clambered over the end of the bed. She snatched at the four posters hangings, ripping them as far open as they would go, letting in as much light as she possibly could.

_I'm being ridiculous_, she thought, _control yourself! This isn't logical!_

Hermione dived under the covers and pulled the book to her chin. Its pages were slightly blackened from the fireplace, but she could still make out most of the text.

_…Until the day the young soonal the evil warlock greeted her chambers…_

This was where she had been the last time she was reading. _What in Godric Gryffindor was soonal?_

Hermione reflected. _Soonal. Soonal. Soon. Al. Son. Al. Son Of._

_…Until he the day the young **son of** the evil warlock greeted her chambers…_

She nearly whooped in joy.

_…The boy greeted her with hatred…_

Again, Hermione found the book to be not entirely unfamiliar. Hadn't Malfoy only just visited her? And he had also most certainly, 'greeted her with hate.'

She read on.

_…"Oh wicked princess, thou art no witch princess at all. A common mare but hath thee, a common mare thy will take pleasure in cursing! Screamed the youth. The princess cried and cried, for his cruelty had cut her liketh no sword nor wand could have. The boy laughed at her misery. "And father saw fit to capture thyself a wife? Thou art fit for no man! Thou think else wise and thou is but a foolish muggle! Thou will be no wife of mine!" The boy took his leave, locking the tower door behind him. Glad to be rid of him for at least a time, the princess rejoiced. Little did she know nor wonder, that he would return with the soon coming morn…"_

Heavy eyelids closed. The shadows that had frightened her so moments before retreated to the far corners of the room. Hermione slipped into blissful slumber. The book toppled from her hands. It fell to the stone floor. The gentle contact it made as it hit the cobblestones did nothing to stir Hermione. Sleeping Beauty rested on an exhausted peace.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

**Breakfast is Served**

"…Arithmetic, professor…" Hermione mumbled sleepily.

In a state of drowsiness, all sense of direction rendered useless, she rolled one inch too far and toppled off the bed. A loud thump followed. This noisy announcement was quickly followed by a further, louder sound of protest as Hermione groaned in pain.

Apart from her somewhat rude awakening she had slept well. Unusually well in fact. Whilst the beds at The Burrow were quite comfortable, they could hardly measure up to such an exquisite slumber such as the one she had just enjoyed.

_What was such a luxurious bed doing at the humble likes of the Weasleys Burrow?_ Pondered Hermione, vaguely. She opened her eyes to her unfamiliar surroundings and remembered.

Such a luxurious bed wasn't at The Burrow at all. It was at Malfoy Manor, a far wealthier family's home.

The peace that Hermione had awoken to deserted her. In its place a slow dull panic welled up.

_I'm not a guest staying over at Ron's, I'm a prisoner trapped in Malfoy Tower._

Hermione forced herself to calm down. She slowed her breathing.

_It's fine. I'm fine. I'm on a mission. I have to focus. I'm a bridal hostage. Engaged to…Draco Malfoy._

Hermione choked at the thought. The air escaped in a violent cough, which quickly morphed into a deep belly laugh.

_Engaged to Draco Malfoy. And oh, how I will make him regret it. I'm doing it for my friends! For Harry! And for…Ron. Sweet, kind, bumbling Ron._

Hermione gave a small sigh.

_Time to get to work._

She stood and made her bed. The fairytale book was found, once again, on the floor. It was placed daintily upon the center cushion adoring the beds pillow arrangement.

Hermione considered it momentarily. Oddly enough, its events had mimicked what had happened to Hermione over the past day or so. The kidnapping, 'princely' visits, the idea of an arranged marriage…all had been all too familiar for Hermione. In her opinion, any sort of thing was 'a load of tripe.' Divination had never really appealed to her.

_I'm sure its purely coincidental_, she reassured herself.

Anything other than that would be simply not logical.

Hermione bathed in the downstairs bathroom. The stained nightdress she had washed the night before had dried. It now looked more yellowed than white, and quite stained, but appeared to be otherwise clean.

She slipped it on, glad to at last be rid of her 'towel toga.'

A quick examination of the marble sink, and its cabinet, revealed nothing surprising. No toothpaste, or brush.

The mirror magnified Hermione's disappointment. She had often stressed that she had no need, or time, for beautification (Pansy Parkinson had once inquired rather sarcastically as to what make-up Hermione used. Not realizing she was being taken for a lark, Hermione had replied nonplussed, "make up? What would I do with make-up?")

but hygiene…Hygiene was another matter completely.

Hermione trudged upstairs. The sight that greeted her upon her return startled her somewhat. Draco stood central to the room, eyes closed. In his outstretched hand he held his wand.

"…_Middilikis Marlarkani_…"

He flicked his wrist, and conjured a small wooden table out of thin air. It thumped down before him. Another two waves of the wand and two chairs, a tablecloth and a mountain of food followed. Soon enough the table was set, and pancakes, muffins, toasts, jams, a jug of pumpkin juice, fresh fruit, bacon, eggs, and porridge littered the table.

Malfoy lowered his wand. He gave Hermione a lazy once over. In a perfectly disgusted tone he muttered,

"Breakfast is served," he sneered, _"m'lady."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**A Starved Mudblood**

"What is all of this?" Hermione asked.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"That's right folks, she's supposedly the smartest at Hogwarts! Look at how she marvels over _breakfast_."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

"That's not what I meant," she snapped.

Draco indicated a chair.

"Sit!" He demanded.

Hermione remained standing.

Draco roared, "SIT!"

Hermione begrudgingly moved towards the chair. He pulled it out for her, gave a stiff bow, and took his place opposite her.

"This is protocol. Nothing more. Father said I had to feed you, otherwise you might do something foolish and die," explained Draco as he reached for the flask of juice.

Hermione glared, "oh no, of course we wouldn't want something foolish like that to happen, now would we?"

Draco choked on his juice. "Sarcasm Granger? Sinking a tad low there, aren't you?"

Hermione met his steely gaze with one of her own.

"Why aren't you eating? Aren't you hungry? Starving mudblood, you're skin and bones,"

"While I am here, I would appreciate it, Malfoy, if you would NOT refer to me in that manner," she spat.

Malfoys eyes seemed to twinkle. _He's enjoying this,_ Hermione thought, _the little worm is enjoying torturing me._

He smirked, "and I would prefer it if you stopped referring to me on last name terms. But that's not going to happen, is it?"

The idea struck Hermione oddly, she had always referred to Malfoy as, well, Malfoy. Calling him by his actual name would be- she searched for a word- _unnatural?_

"I don't think so, _Malfoy_."

"Just as I said, _Mudblood_. Now eat your toast."

Hermione eyed the food nervously. What kind of funny potions had been hidden amongst the meal before her?

"How do I know you haven't poisoned the food? Put something in one of the pastries that will make me ill, or, or, drool uncontrollably?"

Malfoy laughed.

"A trusting soul, aren't you? No, I haven't put anything in your porridge, Granger. Why would anyone want to witness you puking? I've already seen that- er- felt that, and it's not a pretty sight."

A pause.

"-But then again, you're not a pretty sight on the best of days."

Hermione growled as she reached for the jam. His scathing 'ugly' remark had cut her the night before, so much so that she had raged beneath her bath waters, but for now such comments had to go unnoticed. She was as Malfoy had said, starved.

A ravishing hunger took hold. Draco steadily sipped at his goblet of pumpkin juice whilst she gobbled down a plate of eggs, two pieces of toast, fruit and a lone muffin.

When she had at last finished, he applauded.

"Oh well done!" Draco droned, sarcasm honeying his tone, "I had my doubts as to how much you'd actually eat, but said doubts were quickly put to rest after you swallowed that live muffin whole."

Hermione stood. She picked up the edges of her frayed nightdress and performed a small curtsey.

"Thank you, thank you," she sniffed, mock crying as if she were a very grateful beauty pageant winner.

"And for my first act as newly instated Minister for Magic I demand that any witch trapped in a tower be freed."

Draco halted his applause. He smirked, "nice try."

A wave of his wand ensured the breakfast table was cleared. A further wave and the table and chairs disappeared completely.

The room was left looking immaculate once more. Malfoy's eyes trawled the room, searching for some indicator of poor housework. The scrutiny was detailed. No corner went unchecked. His eyes eventually settled on the only dusty item in the entire room; Hermione.

"Granger, are you rehearsing for the Goblin's musical production of Cinderella?"

Hermione frowned, confused.

"What on earth are you talking ab-"

Malfoy cut across her reply, "You're dressed in rags Granger, _rags_."

Hermione's pale fingers clutched at her tattered nightdress. It was her shield, protecting her vulnerable bruised flesh below.

The shield that was supposed to represent her dignity was dirt ridden- stained.

She felt as if her so-called dignity was a crystal vase that had suddenly fallen, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

"What else do you expect me to wear Malfoy!? I have no clothes, no toothbrush, not a stitch of underwear!"

Colour rose in Draco's cheeks. Hermione flushed with pride. At last, she had succeeded in obtaining a reaction from the collected composure of Draco Malfoy.

"That's right Malfoy! I have nothing! You joke and say I'm playing at Cinderella when it's no joke, and I'm not playing. Feed me a fancy breakfast to keep me breathing, sure, but dress me in rags, cage me in a tower and I'm still no princess."

Hermione paused to gulp air.

"Not that I want to be treated like one. I just want to be treated like a human being. I want to retain some dignity. I want respect. I want…clothes."

Draco gave Hermione a look of pure loathing before storming out of the room.

Hermione gaped at the door.

She thought to herself, _now you've done it. Who's going to feed you? Forget respect or clothes- you've got nothing to eat. You'll be stuck up here starving until the day of the wedding. Great work, Hermione._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

**Dressing Up**

_He can't just leave me here._ Hermione thought, worrying. _He is under 'protocol' after all. I'm positive he will come back sometime soon…Well, nearly positive…Sort of positive…_

There was not much time for Hermione to analyse her situation however, for as quick as he had left, Draco returned. He was not alone.

"I thought you weren't coming back!" Hermione blurted out.

Draco looked furious.

"Of course I was coming back! Stupid mudblood, how many times do I have to tell you that this circumstance doesn't exactly give me any options? I went to get your 'precious' clothes, you whiney little brat," he fumed.

This peculiar response took Hermione by surprise. Malfoy had not left out of anger. He had rushed off out of concern.

She exclaimed, "oh?"

Draco indicated to the other party; a somewhat large woman dressed in black and white wizarding robes.

"This is Mrs. Potts. She works for us. She's a maid, a cook, a tailor, whatever. She's come to make you something decent to wear," stated Draco.

Hermione nodded, "It is very nice to meet you Mrs. Potts."

The witch returned the nod with a curtsey.

"M'lady Granger," she murmured. Her voice had a touch of an accent.

_Maybe she's Irish?_ Hermione wondered.

Big greeny, blue eyes poked out from behind Mrs. Potts; indicating a small figure huddling at her rear.

"And who's this little one?" Hermione cooed.

Mrs. Potts stepped aside, leaving Hermione complete view of the creature.

She gasped. It was the smallest, quaintest House Elf she had ever seen. Thin as a rail, her 'clothes' hung loosely from her. All House Elves were, in Hermione's opinion, imprisoned by cruel wizard folk under poor labour laws. They worked as slaves within a home, and were only ever permitted to take their leave if their owners gave them a piece of clothing.

"This littal one 'ere is Button. She 'elps me wit' my sewing," said Mrs. Potts.

Hermione had the sudden urge to burst into wild protest about unfair labour and House Elf rights and S.P.E.W- the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare, a club that she had created (so far only she, Harry and Ron had joined the club, and only because she had threatened both if they refused).

Hermione opened her mouth to begin rioting, and then promptly shut it once more.

_This is not the time. Not now, when you're on the verge of being rag free._

"It's lovely to meet you Button," she purred warmly.

Draco shuffled his feet, obviously uncomfortable.

"Right. Well. You'll have your damn clothes mudblood," he muttered.

Mrs. Potts shushed him,

"There there child, she'll be fuh-yine wit' me, you get alon' now. Go on, geht. A lady 'as the right to some privarcy, now, don't she?"

Draco looked relieved. He gave Hermione a scathing look before dashing out of the room.

"Ha, my word, that boy'sa strange one," Mrs. Potts chuckled, "N'er let it be sud that youngin' Master Malfoy was a bad egg tho, jus' a confused 'ittle one."

This comment interested Hermione.

She began, "Mrs. Potts, what do you mean by-?" but was cut off by Button, who was tugging at her nightdress.

Mrs. Potts laughed, "she wants you ta tak' it off, dear."

Hermione cringed.

She had always been self-conscious about her body. The girls at Hogwarts had often run around their dormitories stark naked before showering or changing. Whereas Hermione had persisted in being reserved, preferring to undress behind the safety of her four-poster.

Button pulled, ever persistent, at Hermione's frayed dress. Hermione shook her head.

"Oh, come nuw, we're all gals 'ere, n'thing ta be 'shamed 'bout," Mrs. Potts soothed, "I've sen' it plenta times b'fore! Ha! I e'en seen youngin' Master Malfoy in the nude!"

Hermione had a sudden image of a younger Malfoy in the nude, refusing to indulge in 'bath time,' he was being chased around the bathroom by a very cranky Mrs. Potts. The scene was enough to make her snort.

Mrs. Potts pulled out her wand. It whisked about the room, creating colourful trails as it cut the air.

"O'er here, M'lady. We'll 'ave you looking lovly in no time, won't we Button?"

The House Elf halted her frantic tugging. She gave a curt nod.

"Ere now, set up the screen fa the wee lass,"

Button fished into Mrs. Potts skirts. After some time she produced a small white card. It was placed directly in front of Hermione. Button stroked it with her index finger and it sprang to life. Slowly, it unfolded, growing in size and shape.

It wasn't too long before a fully completed white screen stood before them.

"Go on, dear, get ye' changed now, out a' them scrabbles. Like I sud, it don't matter ta me, I seen it plenty a' times before," she chorused.

At last, somewhat begrudgingly, Hermione admitted defeat. She slipped the nightdress over her head. Button collected the limp bundle from her.

The colours that hung in air froze. Mrs. Potts gave a further brush of her wand, and they solidified. Their new weight caused them to drop rapidly. Button rushed about, catching them all.

"Fabrics dear, a fine lot 'ere for a fine lady. A lady Draco Malfoy soon, I'm told."

Mrs. Potts conjured a measuring tape, which rushed about on its own accord. It measured Hermione from head to toe.

"Ah dear, thos' unda garments are no gud, I'll 'ave to get ya some new ones," Mrs. Potts chided.

She whipped her wand at the tape. It coiled snakelike, twisted.

"Button, will ye' take down these 'ere measurements fa me, now."

Button indicated to the bundle she was holding.

"Ah, yeah, throw it in tha fire," Mrs. Potts instructed.

The raggedy nightie was tossed into the fireplace, where the flames greedily gobbled it up. Button then produced a quill and parchment.

The tape measure rose up. It snaked its way around Hermione's middle.

"Alpha gingt, twenny, lossner…" Mrs. Potts barked.

Button recorded every last bewildering instruction.

"Now, go on, ya know 'ow ta do this, make up a' heap a ladies petticoats and such," she ordered.

Button nodded. House Elves, whilst not as magically enabled as wizards, still had some stores of their own magic. Button checked her newly marked parchment. She rolled it up, along with the quill, and clicked her fingers. The items disappeared in a puff of smoke. She then raised her hands, forming colourful spirals in the air, just as Mrs. Potts had done.

"AH, not ere ya foolish pet!" Mrs. Potts grumbled.

She pushed Button towards the other side of the screen.

"You go o'er there, an' I'll work 'ere with the lass."

Mrs. Potts turned to Hermione once more. She surveyed her thoughtfully, as if only just truly noticing her for the first time.

"Hmmm."

Hermione gulped, suddenly feeling nervous.

"What are you going to do?" She asked.

Mrs. Potts replied, "I'm goin' ta make you som'ting ta wear, you ol' goat. Why are ye' so worried, ey? Firs' you didn't wan' ta change in front ta me, and now you nerves a' shot ta pieces!"

Hermione answered by indicating to herself. Mrs. Potts gave an understanding smile. She rolled up her sleeves, saying as she did so "don't be feelin' jumpy, dear, you'ra lovely lass to ba sure. You jus' don't seem ta realise it, is all."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

**A Weakness**

The task of tailoring Hermione was arduous. It wasn't long before the entire morning had been consumed. With noon came the rumbling of Hermione's eager stomach.

"Mrs. Potts," Hermione tried.

Mrs. Potts hushed her at once. She nibbled at her lip, ogling the current garment Hermione was modelling. Pins stuck out at bizarre angles, prodding Hermione. The sensation was not at all unlike being a human pincushion. It offered her a whole new perspective on life- she found that she suddenly had strong sympathies for Porcupines.

"Hmm, it's still nut quite righ'… Stop you're squirmin'!" Mrs. Potts reprimanded.

She waved her wand over Hermione and two-dozen pins fell from her gown, bouncing to the floor.

Button came scurrying from behind the other side of the screen.

"Finished! Finished! I'm all finished!" She squeaked.

Mrs. Potts smiled warmly, "gud lass. Put them unda' garments on the bed o'er there, wit' tha fabrics. You're jus' in time! Ha, we were abou' to stop fa lunch."

They picnicked briefly at a patch of floor near Hermione's bed, on cheese, crunchy bread and bottles of Butter beer.

After feeding they returned laboriously to their tasks.

Hermione adopted her modelling stance behind the screen whilst Mrs. Potts and Button worked jointly in crafting her clothes. As the hours passed, and the day wore well into the afternoon, the pile of completed outfits gradually grew in size.

The final few embers died in the fireplace whilst Mrs. Potts completed the final stitch on Hermione's replacement nightie.

"There, you're all done lass," Mrs. Potts announced. Pride honeyed her tone.

Button stroked the dress screen. It collapsed immediately, folding itself into its original square card form. Mrs. Potts took it from Button and slipped it into her pocket.

"Ah, we're all dun! Won't Master Malfoy be pleas'd?" Mrs. Potts beamed.

She whisked her wand, gathering up various bibs and bobs; material scraps, needles, thread.

Hermione trooped downstairs, to make use of the full-length mirror in the bathroom. She examined her reflection. The nightdress was the last piece of clothing that had to be made, and had been intentionally planned to be so, as if Hermione modelled it lastly she would then not need to change again before retiring for the evening.

Hermione had insisted that the nightie be 'extra' special. She felt that its predecessor had been her only companion on entering Malfoy Manor. It was her shield, representing her and her dignity. Thus, Hermione had concluded, it needed to be presentable.

The gown was white silk. A low cut, plunging neckline, trimmed in Widows lace. The sleeves were petit, covering just her shoulders. It was fitted comfortably, more so around her torso, but with looser silk folds cascading down to her ankles.

Hermione stared wide-eyed at herself. All at once, a wave of uncomfortableness crashed upon her.

_I, I can't wear this! I can't_, she panicked, _it's too nice! Too beautiful for someone…someone like me._

Hermione darted back upstairs. She was eager to explain to Mrs. Potts that the nightie was a mistake. The sight that greeted her upon her return to the room disheartened her still further. Malfoy had returned.

He chatted to Mrs. Potts with his back to Hermione, whilst Button folded her newly created garments.

Mrs. Potts caught sight of Hermione and winked.

Hermione shook her head, mouthing 'no.'

Mrs. Potts raised her brows.

"Oh Master Malfoy, I do believe youn' Lady Granger has return'd."

Malfoy turned. He gawked at Hermione, eyes rounding.

Hermione hung her head.

"I know what you're going to say Malfoy. You're going to say that even in such a dress, I still manage to look ugly. I asked Mrs. Potts to make it nicely, but I fear she has made it far too nice for a plain girl like me. You see Malfoy; I don't need to be told how ugly I am, because I already know…" Hermione faltered.

Mrs. Potts sighed. She shook her head.

"M'lady- Hermione- ugly is'a loada hogwash! You are one a tha prettiest gals I e'er laid eyes on. Draco! Tell 'er!"

Draco remained frozen, staring bleary eyed at Hermione. A puzzled expression pasted across his face.

"DRACO! 'Ow does M'lady Granger look?" She demanded once more.

Draco snapped to attention.

"W-what? Oh, well, er," he spluttered, "I guess it's an improvement-"

Hermione looked up, a frown creasing her brow.

Draco shook his head, clarification restoring his senses.

He added hastily, with his trademark smirk, "-of sorts."

Mrs. Potts rolled her eyes.

"It don' matter 'ow of'en a gal says you look nice, fa she's only inerstead in tha one opin-yun tha' matters- tha boys. An' you can bet a pretty penny he won't be man enough ta say it," she commented, sounding slightly dismayed.

"Button!"

Button completed her folding and sped to attention.

Mrs. Potts grimaced, "Time ta go! Say gud nigh' ta these two."

Button bowed low. So low, Hermione could have sworn she saw her nose brush against the stone floor.

Mrs. Potts curtseyed.

"M'lady. Master Malfoy."

The two left. The door shut gently behind them.

Malfoy and Hermione stared at each other, eyes shooting vindictive daggers.

Hermione broke the silence.

"I'm plain, not pretty, just plain. Not that it matters. No one at Hogwarts ever said anything-"

Draco cut in, "that's because you're freckled mess of a mug was usually hidden behind some book, mudblood! And no one is a lie. People talk Granger. Just not to your face."

He paused.

"Unless, unless, it's not people you're talking about."

Hermione glared furiously.

"No, not people at all. Person. Weasley never said anything, is that what you meant mudblood?" Draco sneered, "Do you love him?"

A beat.

"Is he your knight in shining robes? Just like in your pathetic little story books!"

Hermione couldn't take the abuse any longer.

"STOP! Just STOP!" She roared.

This plea only seemed to spur him on. "UGLY GRANGER'S GOING TO MARRY UGLY WEASLEY! UGLY LITTLE MUDBLOOD!"

Hermione shook with anger.

"ENOUGH! ENOUGH! ENOUGH! LEAVE ME ALONE YOU FILTHY SCUM!"

Draco grinned, triumphant. At last he had succeeded in securing the reaction he desired; Hermione had sunk to his level.

Hermione put her hand to her mouth.

"Congratulations Granger, you just fell off your high and mighty throne. Resorting to name-calling? Tut tut! Expected more from you…"

The truth hit Hermione. Hard.

Malfoy had found her weakness, targeted it and used it to manipulate her into a state of fury.

"So, as you so dramatically demonstrated in front of Mrs. Potts and myself, and myself again, you believe yourself to be 'ugly.' Yes Granger, expected something much more complex from you. A deeply routed family issue, or a fear of small spaces, but oh no, the most intelligent in the grade fears what every ordinary teenage witch fears…being unattractive. Oh, and marrying Weasley." Draco snorted at his own joke.

Hermione snarled, "no Malfoy. I don't fear becoming unattractive as I already am a-"

"-and so you fear people commenting on it? Oh, I get it! It 'hurts' when a man tells you you're UGLY!" Draco cackled. "Oh father will be pleased! He thought it would take me all week to figure out your weakness. Yet, in just two days, I've cracked it! How foolishly easy."

Hermione spoke. Her voice came out a small squeak.

"I think you had better leave now."

Draco glowed.

"Oh I think I had better, too."

He turned, gave a last malicious bark of laughter, and departed.

The shadows that had frightened Hermione so well the night before returned with swift vigour, crawling, clawing at her sorrow. Hermione hugged herself. Alone at last, she found herself not feeling relieved to be free of Malfoy's cruelty but instead, vulnerable and incredibly frightened.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**Power Play**

Hermione woke the next morning to find the fairytale book lying open on her chest. It had acted as her comforter yet again; a teddy bear to hug away the bad dreams.

Hermione yawned. She picked up the book, curious to see what passage she had been reading before she drifted off into blissful slumber.

_"…Little did she know nor wonder, that he would return with the soon coming morn…"_

That had been the final few words she had been left with the night before last. Eerily enough, those too, had come true, proving over again that truth is stranger than fiction.

_"…And so the young warlock had. He returned on his fathers instruction; for the princess needed new clothing…"_

Hermione balked at this line. Yesterday, she had indeed received a bundle of new clothing at Malfoy's request.

_"…At sundown, the princess changed into her new attire. She looked the most lovely in all the land. When the prince gazed upon her, he could see this to be so. Yet, he felt only spite and jealousy for the girl as his inner evils had corrupted his person, twisting his features into a malicious mask. The princess's heart had beautified her from the inside out. She was beautiful- and he was not._

_"How ugly thou are, princess," he called cruelly._

_The princess was clever. The jibe cut her, but not as deeply as the prince would have enjoyed. She replied, with a curtesy, "Sire art too kind. Though thou own figure far proceeds mine by that principle."_

_The prince left, for he knew it was true…"_

Hermione cocked her head to one side. _That passage was different_, she thought, _familiar but slightly different. I am not a beautiful princess, nor did I say such things last night. Malfoy believing himself to be ugly, surely that could not be so, he's far too vain…how peculiar._

Hermione read on.

_"…The day died and the princess slept. A new day dawned with news…"_

Her reading was interrupted by a knock on the door.

_Strange. Malfoy doesn't normally knock. He just enters. Pig._

"Come in?" She replied, somewhat curiously.

Button entered bearing a tray of foodstuffs. Hermione felt strangely disappointed.

"Oh."

Button squeaked, "M'lady! Breakfast in bed!"

"Oh!" Hermione cheered.

The little House Elf bowed low. The plate wobbled on her palm.

"Button hopes it is to your liking!" Button shuffled forwards, making her way over to Hermione's bed. Her chin barely reached above edge of the mattress.

Button pushed the plate up onto the bed. Hermione couldn't help but notice Button's fingers. They were bandaged. Hermione rolled to the side, so she could see her better.

"Button," she began.

Button squeaked, "yes miss!"

"What happened to your fingers?"

"Button don't know miss!"

"Surely you must!"

Button shifted, uncomfortable.

"Well, miss,"

Hermione coaxed, "please tell me."

Button heaved a sigh, "Master Malfoy is supposed to bring you breakfast everyday, but this morning he didn't want to miss."

_Well obviously_, Hermione thought darkly. After last nights incident, she was surprised Malfoy hadn't set fire to her room whilst she slept.

"Go on," she encouraged.

"Well, he also said no one else was to bring you breakfast either. But, well, oh deary me, Button kept thinking about- about how you didn't eat last night, and you must be so hungry and well…" Button rushed on.

"So Button decided to bring you breakfast, and well, while Button was making it…"

Hermione already knew what had happened. Harry had explained to her Dobby's strange behaviour after he had deliberately disobeyed his owners, to help Harry. Dobby had hurt himself, delivering his own penance in an attempt to reconcile his guilt. Obviously, Button had performed the same ritual. Hermione's insides writhed in fury.

_How dare he!_ She thought, S.P.E.W protests clanging like the bells of a cathedral.

"Oh you poor dear! That is atrocious!" Hermione consoled.

Button shook her head, her ears flapping. "Oh no, Miss, please, don't. Button already feels awful, betraying Master Malfoy like that. If he finds o-o-out he'll…BAD BUTTON!"

Button leaped up, running headfirst towards the closest wall.

"NO!" Hermione shrieked.

Button thumped into the cold stone. She fell to the floor.

"BUTTON!"

Button stood once again, and then repeated the attack on herself. She beat against the wall, again and again.

Hermione pushed the food tray aside. She threw back her covers, and ran to Button.

"Button, no!" Hermione wrenched her up by her tiny shoulders.

Button shrieked, "no! NO! LET BUTTON GO! MASTER MALFOY! BUTTON IS SORRY!"

Hermione shook the house elf.

"Button! It's all right! Calm down! Here, look, I'm eating breakfast now! Your delicious breakfast- see?" Hermione brought Button back to her bed. She set her down near one the bed's wooden four-poster banisters. With a steady hand she plucked at the silver platter's covering. The food spread was modest, beautiful in its simplicity. A steady stack of pancakes, toped with melting butter and hot maple syrup, a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a small bowl of strawberries.

Button cowered by the post.

"Nothing to worry about, Malfoy won't be mad, he won't even know!" Hermione soothed.

She picked up a fork, and speared a strawberry.

"Mmmm…"

She popped it into her mouth.

"Delicious!"

Button looked relieved.

"Button is glad you like it miss!"

Hermione grinned, "oh I do like it, very much, thank you Button. You've done so well."

Button beamed at the compliment.

"Well, Button best be off now, Miss, Lady Potts will be wondering where Button is…"

Button bounded off the bed. She gave a little wave, and swiftly exited.

Hermione mulled over what had just happened while eating her breakfast.

_So Malfoy doesn't want to see me? Fine. I don't exactly want to see him either._

She considered Button, the image of her trampled fingers vividly imprinted upon her memory.

_But when I do eventually 'catch up' with him, I'll be telling him a thing or two about House Elf rights!_

It was on this vengeful note that Hermione finished her breakfast. The tray was placed on the floor beside her bed. She got up, made her bed and bathed. Mrs. Potts had ordered Button to collect an array of toothpastes and such the day before, so her cabinet in the bathroom was now filled with numerous hygiene products. Hermione brushed her teeth for seven minutes in an act of furious cleansing after her bath.

The clothes that had been made for her, rested at the foot of her bed. (Hermione had not summoned the courage to ask for a wardrobe yesterday.)

The pretty clothes were eyed warily. Minutes ticked past as Hermione clutched at her slipping towel, trying to make a comfortable selection. She at last settled on a set of ivy green and black underwear. Next, she elicited a matching bottle green dress robes, trimmed in black lace. It was low cut, as had her nightdress been, with long sleeves and skirts. Hermione admired the dress in the downstairs mirror.

_Pretty and plain…don't mix._

A brush of her bushy brown hair completed the dressing regime. Hermione ventured upstairs.

Malfoy sat at the end of her bed looking grumpy. His eyes lit at the sight of Hermione. They scrolled over Hermione, drinking in her appearance.

Hermione put her hand up as Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, "I don't want to hear it."

Malfoy quieted.

Hermione continued, "Whatever rude comments you have to say, you can to keep to yourself."

Draco gave a sneer.

"Furthermore," Hermione took a breath, "House Elves have rights. You shouldn't be so cruel to little Button."

Draco's face contorted, confused.

"What?"

"I said you shouldn't be so mean to Button!"

Draco groaned, "don't be stupid mudblood"

"-I'm not being-"

"- yes you are. Look, I am not the one being 'mean' to that filthy house elf. She's 'mean' to herself with her silly clumsiness. Look at what the klutz did this morning! She ironed her own fingers!"

Hermione glared, "only because she felt so bad about disobeying your ridiculous orders!"

Draco stared at her through slitted lids.

"What do you mean she disobeyed my orders?"

Hermione exclaimed, "oops."

Draco laughed, "oops? Oops?"

Hermione blushed.

"Where's that fancy vocab of yours everyone's so fond of? Hmm? _Oops_- you lost it!"

Draco stood, chuckling.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione barked, changing the subject.

"Well, I was supposed to bring you breakfast-"

"More like lunch by now"

Draco smirked, "so you noticed I was running late? Miss me then?"

Hermione backtracked, "that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean?" He questioned coolly.

"I meant, you're deliberately behind scheduale. You're trying to show me who's boss, who has got the power, if it wasn't for you I'd starve, all that nonsense. I already know that you're under protocol, as you so humbly worded it."

Draco inspected his fingernails.

"Under protocol, yes, but I still have more control over this little situation than you ever will. As I was saying, I was supposed to be bringing you breakfast but Button beat me to it, naughty naughty. I shall make her pay."

Hermione raged, "No you won't!"

Draco stepped towards her.

He leant into her, close. So close, their noses were but inches apart. His eyes glittered dangerously.

"_Yes. I. Will_."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

**Itinerary**

Hermione's eyes widened. Malfoy was too close, far too close.

Yet she couldn't force herself to look away. They were locked in a silent battle of wits, a who-could-out-stare-who glaring competition. Hermione refused to bow to defeat.

As her eyes strained to hold their focus, Draco's grew in strength, sharpening. He drew vitality from watching Hermione struggle piteously.

It was for the second time in her life that Hermione considered Malfoy to be enjoying torturing her.

At last, watery eyes burning with the desire to blink, Hermione broke the steely gaze. She turned in an attempt to mask her bitter disappointment. Humble as always, Draco accepted his victory with the civility of a troll.

"What's the matter Mudblood? Can't handle a little confrontation? Or maybe you're just out of practice. When was the last time you looked into the eyes of man?" He jeered.

Hermione pushed her embarrassment aside.

"If you're quite done Malfoy, maybe you had better leave, so you can go and practice your pathetic glares on yourself," she chided.

Draco narrowed his glinting eyes.

"Oh, come now, no need to go all Moaning Myrtle on me. You're so goody-two shoes. A bore. And here I was, thinking you looking so…" he searched for a word, "so bold today in Slytherin greens no less, would be up for a little fun."

Hermione balked. She glanced down at the clothes she had chosen to dress in. There was no denying that they were definitely Slytherin colours.

Malfoy smirked triumphantly. Hermione gave an involuntary shudder.

"Charming colours, makes you look so…out of character."

Hermione turned to face Draco again.

"Out of character?" She echoed hollowly. Thoughts of the fairytale book, and its baffling coincidences swelled.

"Well, it conflicts with your normal persona, doesn't it? Miss Priss all done up in bad tones. You rebel you."

_So that's what he meant,_ she thought vaguely, _he wasn't referring to the book at all._

Hermione had a strong urge to pull the dress over her head and toss it at the infuriating Draco. She settled for quiet seething.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? Or should that be snake, seeing as it is Slytherin you're supporting."

Draco paused to cackle. He glanced at Hermione to check for a reaction. She remained silent.

"I suppose we could chat over tea and crumpets all day long but I really do have things to do, elves to punish…"

Hermione bit her lip.

"…So let's get down to business as such. It's a week from today that we are to-"

Draco stumbled on the words.

"M-marry. Now I know you, being a dirty Mudblood, wouldn't have been to a Wizarding wedding ceremony before. You haven't a clue what this silly charade involves, which is to say, work. A lot of work. I have here an itinerary with a list of everything that we have to do in preparation."

He produced a roll of parchment from his black robes. Gingerly, he passed it to Hermione. She accepted it, perched on the end of her bed. With some dispassion, she un-scrolled the list.

It read:

**_Traditional W.W Itinerary_**

The following tasks are to be completed in the week leading to the Wedding of One _Draco Malfoy_ and One _Hermione Granger_.

Waltz of the Weiler

Wykesteral Wails

Wedding Vows

Wishful spell of the Wand

Wedding robes

Wistful Well Ball

The couple MUST learn, and practice the traditional Waltz of the Weiler. The couple MUST have a sound knowledge of the Wykesteral Wails. The Bride and groom MUST each complete their own individual Wedding Vows. Each MUST create a Wishful spell of the Wand for their partner. The Bride MUST design her own Wedding robes. The couple MUST attend the Wistful Well Ball on the eve of their wedding.

We, the Bride and Groom, wholeheartedly agree to complete the above traditions in a declaration of dedication to honouring the W.W laws, revised edition, as duly contracted by the twenty-eighth Minister for Magic Maid Miralda Mirinda.

Draco Malfoy

Hermione noted the two spaces reserved for signatures. One had been filled; a large, scrawling piece of handwriting stretched to the end of the allocated room. A bookworm, and so naturally a handwriting enthusiast, Hermione couldn't help but appreciate the beauty of the autograph. Ruefully, she admired Draco's handiwork.

The sound of Draco's drawl bought the return of Hermione's senses.

"Any questions?" He asked.

Hermione analysed the paper quizzically. _Yes_, she longed to answer, _plenty. Such as, why do you, of all people, have such lovely handwriting? You illegitimate baboon._

Instead, she settled for, "What is the Waltz of the Weiler?"

Draco groaned, "It's a dance."

Hermione nodded, thoughtful

"And we will be learning it, correct?"

Draco gave a curt nod.

"What about Wykesteral Wails?"

"In short, they are the 'I do's.'"

"Wedding Vows…obviously are vows…but we have to write them ourselves? Really? Is that necessary?" Hermione inquired.

Draco groaned again. Yes, he replied, they were necessary. Yes, they would each have to write one about the other.

Hermione laughed, "And what, pray tell, am I supposed to say? Shall I ramble on about how much I hate and loathe you? Or about how much you wish I were dead?"

Draco glared, "No, Granger, you're supposed to talk about how much you love me!"

Hermione nearly collapsed into hysterics.

"Me- love- you? I would never, could never love you! And I don't think, not for a minute, that anybody else could either!"

Draco flinched. Hermione noted this and ceased her laughing.

"I have more chance than you do, ugly," he spat.

Hermione scowled.

Draco growled, "Is that all?"

"Wishful spell of the Wand, what is that?" she asked tetchily.

"You have to create a spell, for your lover," Draco replied.

Hermione contained herself. The harsh comments thrown at her before served as a cold reminder of the cost of laughing at the idea of Malfoy, _el fiancé_.

"Then I am to design my own robes. Quite understandable. What about this last item? The Wistful Well ball?" queried Hermione.

Draco looked panic stricken.

"The engagement party. It's held the night before the wedding. I-it's," he faltered.

Hermione frowned, "yes?"

Draco shook his head.

"It-it's a masquerade," he finally stammered.

Hermione tilted her head to the side. _What's he hiding?_ She wondered.

"Is that all?"

Draco uttered a disgusted, yet firm, "yes."

Hermione clutched the parchment to her person.

_What a busy week I have ahead_, she thought, _a busy week in which I must dance, recite, write, design, and masquerade. All whilst I solve the most challenging problem I have ever faced. It's more challenging than a thousand O.W.L examinations, or confronting Dolores Umbridge. I have to save Harry and Ron from impending doom. I have to create a fool-proof, Malfoy-proof plan._

Hermione glanced at the now sullen Draco.

_What a busy week I have ahead, indeed._


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

**Blood Pact**

Malfoy tapped his foot impatiently as Hermione read and re-read the Itinerary. At last, satisfied, she brandished the form at him. A triumphant glow illustrated her smiling features.

Draco snatched the parchment from her outstretched hand.

He drawled, "it's about time."

Hermione splayed her hands against her skirts. She shrugged.

"If you're too foolish to read a contract before you sign it, that's your fault. A wiser person ensures they are not being swindled."

Draco searched his robes inner pockets.

"What contract? This is merely an Itinerary."

He elucidated a quill. Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh yes," She affirmed, her voice layered with sarcasm, "an Itinerary that just so happens to require signatures."

"Foolish Granger-" he began.

"No, foolish Malfoy," Hermione interjected, "who'll obviously sign away his soul without so much as glancing at the Devil's fine print."

Cold fury embraced Draco. He tossed the parchment and quill at Hermione, and stalked out of the room. The lighter than air stationery missed it's mark. It gently fluttered to the floor.

Hermione relished in her conquest. For once, she was no the one to shrink away in defeat. Malfoy had left. Shamed by his loss.

Hermione was strongly tempted to squeal in delight, but resisted the urge. Instead she forced a calm upon herself.

It was day- nearly noon- by Hermione's estimations. The room's lone window remained closed, blocking the only reliable source of time: light.

_I miss the sun_, Hermione thought, _and the moon. I wonder if all of Malfoy Manor is as shut up as this tower? Maybe that's why Malfoy has such a pale complexion…_

Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror hanging over the fireplace's mantel.

_Then again, I'm one to talk. I look a ghost with my pearly white skin. At least I have an excuse. I'm always indoors reading. Or as Ron always says, 'locked up in the library, like a proper bookworm.'_

At the thought of reading, Hermione's gaze flicked to the fairytale book. It was propped up against her pillows.

_What better way to enjoy my afternoon?_ She smiled, as she made for the bed. Her feet kicked at the something on the floor. She bent to examine the blockades; the scattered quill and parchment Malfoy had thrown at her. Rueful, she lifted them from their crumpled state.

_I had better sign the form before he returns, else he'll probably toss it at me again._

Hermione carried her new inventory to the bed. She sat, and pulled the fairytale book towards her. With delicate concentration, she balanced it upon one knee. She used her new ledger as a firm backing to support her parchment. Disappointment nudged Hermione as she realised that she had no ink.

_Maybe it's a self -inking quill_, she hoped half-heartedly.

The quill was exquisite in design. A powder blue piece of finery. It's pointed feathers arched up, reaching to the sky above.

Again, Hermione was baffled as to why Malfoy would have such good taste in regards to literacy.

_First he has nice handwriting, now he also has good taste in quills…what is going on here?_

The quill scratched dryly at the paper.

_No ink_. Hermione considered numbly, _What am I supposed to use?_

It was then that she noted the colour of the other signature on the form.

It was red. Blood red.

Surely not! It's barbaric!

Hermione bit her lip.

_He can't expect me to sign in, no, there's been a mistake-_

Already, Hermione knew her silent protests to be wrong. There was no mistaking the scarlet swirls, which already adorned the location reserved especially for signatures.

_He does. Of course he does. I'm to sign in blood._

She eyed the sharp point of the quill nervously.

_The quicker I get this over and done with, the quicker I'll be free to read my book in peace._

Hermione bundled her hand into a fist with the thumb poking out. With her free hand she dangled the quill above.

She hesitated. Her common sense abandoned her like a sailor jumping ship. Fear pulled at her, dragging her down, ushering feelings of pain to mind. Her grip on the quill wavered.

_Hermione! Be sensible! She ordered, on the count of three stab the quill down and do it quickly!_

Hermione took a breath. She tightened her grip on the quill.

_One._

Footsteps echoed from outside. Hermione ignored them.

_Two._

A scratching at the door, as a key was inserted into the lock.

"THREE!" Hermione screeched, and plunged the quill's tip deep into her thumb.

The door flew open, and Draco strolled in.

Blood spurted from Hermione's thumb, running down her arm in thick burgundy line.

"Granger, where are you? I'm back to get that-" Malfoy's voice faltered.

He spotted Hermione and his face paled further.

Hermione filled with panic. She hadn't expected that there would be so much blood. The pain was excruciating. Draco rushed over, climbing onto the bed.

"GRANGER! What the bloody hell have you done?"

He ripped at the end of Hermione's new dress robes, pulling a shred of fabric at the seams. Hermione merely sat, poised in shock.

Draco bundled the material up around Hermione bleeding thumb, creating a makeshift bandage.

"Hold this," he instructed.

Hermione wrapped her free hand around the bandaged thumb. Draco whipped out his wand.

He aimed it at her thumb, "_Rigar morti Reducto_."

Slowly, the pain subsided, ebbing away. Hermione blinked in a dazed state of shock.

Draco snarled, "what pathetic game are you trying to play here?"

Hermione ignored him. Curious, she removed the wrapping.

A small gash decorated her thumb. The cut was closing itself, healing itself, with the aid of Draco's spell. A few final glistening drops of blood leaked out. Draco noticed the parchment, and blood splattered quill. A look of sudden comprehension dawned upon his face. He snatched it up.

"Here, quick, give me your hand."

Hermione obeyed. Draco scooped the last droplets up with end of the quill. He thrust the plume into her hand.

Hermione shakily etched her signature onto the page, beside Draco's.

The itinerary leapt into the air at once. It coiled itself, and then exploded in a cloud of smoke. The entire show supported Hermione's earlier debate- for such a show indicated that a wizarding contract had been signed.

Draco followed the falling ash's path with his eyes. He then picked himself up off the bed, and stood, brushing his robes.

"I was just coming back to check if you'd signed, thought it wouldn't take you any longer than five minutes. I had thought that there wasn't much you could mess up- all you had to do was sign a form! How wrong I was! I walk in and here you are bleeding half to death!" Draco lectured whilst he padded across the room. He paused to shoot a particularly nasty glare her way then continued loudly.

"WHY CAN'T YOU DO ANYTHING RIGHT?" He shouted.

Hermione bent her head in shame. She was furious with herself.

_How could I act so idiotically? And in front of that worm Malfoy! I looked a foolish mess. It was piteous!_

"Why can't you do anything right?" Draco repeated, quietly.

The serious inflection in his voice made Hermione look up. She met his fiery gaze.

She replied softly at first, "Why can't I do anything right? You haven't given me anything to do just yet!"

Slowly, her voice gathered momentum, building its volume up, growing louder, stronger.

"I haven't done anything except sit around in this shut up room."

She finished, nearly screaming.

"Give me something to do, let me make a proper go of it, and I'll show you just how much I can do right!"

Draco gave a tight smile, "so you're ready to make a start on that contract then?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Dance Lessons**

"What's first?" She asked, through clenched teeth.

Draco folded his arms, seemingly unimpressed by her determination.

_He wants to play who can out-intimidate who does he? Well, I can be just as cruel as he can!_

Hermione stood. Her dress's skirts were ripped, and only fell to her knees now, revealing her black-laced petticoat below. Not the dignified effect she had aimed for, but effective none the less.

"Well?" she pushed.

Their eyes locked, engaging yet again, in a match of venomous glowering.

"Waltz of the Weilor," he muttered, his eyes daring her to back down.

Hermione blinked.

_I'm supposed to dance…with him?_

She broke the concentration. Draco simpered in success.

"You can dance, can't you Mudblood? Can you do this 'something' right?"

The jibe fuelled Hermione's resolve. It reignited.

"I can dance circles around you, Malfoy," she lied.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes.

"I don't believe you. You're lying to me Granger, a very rebellious offence indeed."

Hermione bristled, "when do we start?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, "right now."

On cue, a knock sounded from outside.

"Come in," Draco answered.

Hermione glared, "this is my room! I'm living here. I'll answer my own door thank you very much!"

Draco laughed, "excuse me, but I own this entire castle. Thus, this room is very much mine. It doesn't matter that you live here, your kidnapped so you've no choice."

The guest crossed the threshold. A tall blonde haired woman, who had the appearance suggesting there was a nasty smell under her nose. Hermione recognised her as Narcissa Malfoy, Draco's mother.

She gave Hermione a stern look, which clearly said "if it wasn't for the dark lord ordering us to keep you here then I wouldn't scuff my shoes on you," and then swept past her to Malfoy.

She had the impression of being sorely tempted to embrace him. Draco adopted a stiff pose. It deflected her intentions. With a wistful look, she let her arms hang loose by her sides.

"Mother," he snapped.

"Draco," she responded. Her fingers twitched at her sides.

"A tad late aren't you?" he asked.

Narcissa surveyed her son through slitted lids.

"Just a tad, dear," she replied, icy.

"Don't you think you had better…"

She coolly intercepted him, "No Draco, I don't think I should apologise. I'm the mother here, and you're the son. It's not the other way around."

Draco tinged slightly.

Hermione started laughing. Narcissa shot her a glare, and Hermione quickly transfigured her laugh into a hacking cough.

"I don't want any trouble from you, at all, girl. Do exactly as I say and this will be over soon," Narcissa paused, "choose to play ignorant imbecile and things will not move quickly at all. In fact, they will move sluggishly. Painfully slow." She looked to Hermione for an indication that she comprehended her words hidden meaning.

Hermione nodded. She understood.

"I trust Draco has already informed you of the preliminary steps, so we should be able to launch straight into the dance…" Narcissa's voice faded as she caught sight of Hermione's confused expression. She rounded in on Draco. He adopted a look of innocence.

"You did tell her, didn't you?" She asked, sceptic.

Draco swallowed, "Mother…"

A scalding stare penetrated Draco's defences.

"You did tell her didn't you Draco?" Narcissa reiterated.

"W-ell," he stretched the word out to delay the reaction.

Narcissa increased the intensity of her glare. Draco crumbled.

"No," he muttered. He hung hid head.

Narcissa nodded. "I see."

Hermione watched the scene. She said nothing. Too frightened of Narcissa to speak.

_She has such control over him. She's intimidating. No wonder he respects her. She marvelled, I wonder how she learnt to be so powerful? Maybe it's just a family trait…Malfoy seems to have inherited it at any rate, he could break glass with his glares._

Narcissa broke into Hermione's thoughts, "today you are learning to dance, girl. I'll be teaching you the wedding waltz."

Hermione nodded. She had suspected so.

"Now, seems we have a bit of space in the centre here, we should be right," Narcissa turned, examining the distance between herself and the wall behind.

"Should be fine," she finished.

Draco stared at the floor.

Narcissa stalked over to Draco. She latched onto his wrist. Draco was begrudgingly towed to the centre of the room.

Hermione stifled a giggle.

"You," Narcissa pointed to Hermione, "here."

She indicated to a spot at her feet, next to Draco.

Hermione obliged willingly. She didn't fathom the slightest desire to be towed, as Draco had.

They stood, facing each other.

Narcissa bobbed her blonde hair. "Now, move closer."

Neither of the two obeyed. They were a few good inches apart already.

"Be that way then," Narcissa sighed.

She clapped one hand on Draco's shoulder, the other on Hermione's. With great strength she pushed the two together. The bumped into each other blindly.

"NOW let's try again, Draco put your hand around Hermione's waist."

Draco, now barely half an inch away from Hermione, took in a quick gasp of air. Hermione rubbed at a spot on her throbbing head where Draco had collided with her.

"Your hand Draco," Narcissa demanded.

Draco placed his left hand gingerly on Hermione's little waist. Hermione's face flared red.

"Now take her right hand in yours, DO IT DRACO. Girl, on his shoulder."

Hermione placed her left hand on Draco's shoulder as he reached for her right. He clasped her small palm in his slightly larger paw. The two hands slotted in together easily; _a perfect fit_. The thought repulsed Hermione.

_I can't do this! I can't do this! I can't! I can't!_ She panicked.

Narcissa barked, "Draco, pull her into you, you're still too far apart."

Draco shot Hermione a shaky glance.

This calmed Hermione.

_He's losing his nerve. Not so cocky now, _Hermione thought smugly, _not now your Mummy's been cross with you._

Hermione smiled as arrogantly as she could manage. _See? You're doing fine. You CAN do this!_

Draco replied with force. He gave a firm tug, and pulled Hermione close.

It was his turn to smirk with glee. Hermione cringed; they were skin to skin only fully clothed. She had never been held in such a manner before. Viktor Krum had danced with her, yes, and McLaggen had attempted to 'snog' her, but the experiences paled in comparison to the intimate embrace in which she was currently entangled.

She squirmed, uncomfortable.

Only in the small hours of twilight did she permit herself to enjoy the idea of being in such close quarters to another, and even then the thought was laughable. At the end of a dream, her knight in shining robes pulled away his mask, and revealed himself to be none other than Ronald Weasly. Time and time again, Hermione would wake with the ridiculous reverie still fresh in her mind. She reprimanded her unconscious throughout her waking hours- Ron was a friend. A friend. That was all he would ever see her as, a friend, and nothing more.

Draco tightened his grip on her waist. Angry fire lapped at Hermione's insides. She wanted to claw at his fingers, pry them off. He had no right to touch her, to hold her so.

_Think of Harry. Think of Ron. Play puppet. Show your 'hosts' how well you dance._

Narcissa continued, "Draco, you know the steps. Lead. One, two, three."

Draco pulled Hermione and his entwined hands up in the air. He guided Hermione as if guiding a ship over bumpy waters, with his hand at her waist.

Narcissa pulled out her wand. She began to conduct them. A slow, mournful song began. The tune had obviously been created by Narcissa's conductions. It came from nowhere and everywhere; echoing about the room's confined space.

"Two-two three, one three, two. Come on Draco, pick up your feet! I'm disappointed. You're usually such a good dancer!"

Hermione snorted, "you dance on a regular basis?"

The idea was laughable.

Draco whirled her around.

"Shut up Granger!"

Hermione couldn't help herself, she pushed, "but seriously, you, of all people, dance?"

Draco fumed, "Yes, I can dance. Obviously you can't!"

Hermione struggled to keep up with Draco's flourishing footsteps. They seemed very confusing. It was hard to keep in time with them. She miss calculated a step and promptly stood on Draco's foot. She blushed.

"What the hell was that? Did you just stand on my foot? I knew you were lying about out-dancing me, Mudblood, but I had no idea that you couldn't dance at all."

Draco grinned.

Hermione looked down, watching her fumbling footsteps.

"Dancing is an art. Those of high society all know how to dance. It makes sense then, that I should dance well, and you should dance like that giant oaf, Hagrig whatever. You're not pure blood. And I am."

Hermione bit her lip. She was ever mindful of her steps.

_He knew I was lying. Pathetic. I couldn't bluff my way out of a talking tea-cup._

Draco hissed, "Granger, two three, two, not three six four! Don't look at your feet look at me!"

Narcissa whisked her wand faster. The tempo increased.

"Come on girl, do at least _try_. Faster now," she urged.

Hermione scowled at herself.

_You're trying to prove yourself to him and this is the best you could come up with; Two-left feet and an uncomfortable disposition?_

Hermione vowed to do better. She concentrated, hard. On and on the dance went. Hermione missed step after step, crushed Draco's toes continuously (both accidently and purposefully) and danced out of time. But gradually, aided with bouts of sheer determination, she improved. Each dance attempt saw her miss one less step, bump into one less table. They danced for hours. By the end of the day, Narcissa conducted them with ease. They followed her wands every flowing whish.

Narcissa uttered rare praise as Hermione completed a particularly troublesome side step.

"Well done, girl! Well done indeed!"

Not to be outdone, Draco elegantly twirled Hermione, pulled her in and dipped her.

Narcissa applauded his efforts also.

"Excellent work Draco! The both of you! I am impressed, I thought it would take days…but no, you are a clever one aren't you girl? And here I was thinking Draco's been exaggerating all this time. Creating excuses for his second class grades…" Narcissa quietened at Draco's appalled look.

She finished, tartly, "well, yes, amazing, you caught on so quick. A smart mudblood. Who would've thought?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

**To Catch A Cold**

Narcissa slid her wand away. There was a sudden briskness about her- obviously her previous comments had shaken her as much as they had Hermione. She had defied the Malfoy belief system by being nice to a Mudblood. Not just nice, but complimentary.

"Right, that's enough," she barked, her usual haughtiness returned.

Hermione released her clasp on Draco at the instant her dropped his hold on her. It was if an invisible jolt had thrust them apart simultaneously.

Narcissa turned on her heel. She stalked to the door.

"Come on Draco," she called over her shoulder.

Hermione tried to catch Draco's eye- she dearly wished to lavish her triumph upon him in a 'na na na na' manner. Unfortunately, Draco avoided her gaze. He trotted after Narcissa obediently.

Hermione watched them leave. Their footsteps echoed as they descended the spiral staircase, into the castle depths below.

When Hermione was positive they had at last departed for good, she flopped onto her bed. Too exhausted to fret over shadows she fell fast asleep.

---

The cool of the morning ushered Hermione into an early consciousness. The fire had flickered out sometime during the night, leaving the room with a cold, dark feel. Hermione noted that she had also fallen asleep on top of her bed covers rather than under them- yet another reason she felt so clammy. She had also neglected to change into her nightgown.

Hermione attempted to sit up but failed miserably. Her head felt as if fizzing whiz bees were buzzing about it angrily. The force of the headache was too awful to contemplate getting up, changing, or even poking at the fireplace.

_But I'm so cold…freezing…_

She vaguely recalled ordering the fireplace to spring to life and decided to attempt it once more.

"Fire," she croaked, her voice rasped against her dry throat.

The fireplace remained obstinately unlit.

Hermione sniffed.

_I'm sick_, she thought.

And then she returned to the only comfort she could withstand; a black unconscious.

---

"This is pathetic."

Hermione made little sense of what was happening. She was caught between waking and comatose.

"Granger."

Hermione groggily comprehended the words. Light seared at the corners of her eyelids, peeping through the cracks.

"Granger!" The harsh voice came again.

Hermione struggled against her self. She was so, so cold.

"Granger?"

The tone softened slightly.

"Mudblood, this isn't funny."

A pause. Hermione felt her arm- so weak from illness- being lifted. A hand closed gently over her little wrist. Pressure was applied briefly before her hand was placed back under the crook of her huddled body.

The cool touch of another's skin was akin to ice water being splashed over Hermione. She shuddered. A groan passed over her cracked lips.

"You're not dead." The sentence was said in a flat tone. It suggested that the person who spoke was not exactly pleased that she was alive, but not exactly jumping for joy that she was dead either.

Footsteps thudded hurriedly across the floor. Hermione listened- it was all she was capable of doing- as the door opened and closed.

Minutes later, the door creaked open again. More footsteps.

"Wha's wrong with tha poor deah?"

"Don't look at me like that! I haven't done anything to her!"

"Apar' from treatin' 'er like she was dirt you mean?"

Silence.

"Poor thang! 'Ere, Master Malfoy, you'll 'ave ta help me lift 'er."

Hermione felt a tug.

"Ah, what's thi'! She's soaked ta tha bone! An' still in 'er clothes. We'll 'ave ta get 'er outta this!"

"Mrs. Potts-"

"Don't you even think abou' leavin' me young lad! I can't do thi' all by me lonesome!"

"I-"

"Not anotha word!"

"IT'S not-"

"I said not anotha word!"

"IT'S NOT AP-"

"It's not what? Appropriate? Grow up lad! She's going ta be your wife soon, what's it matta! Hmm? She's sick! You want 'er ta get worse? You won't even have a wife then! Look at 'er! Wild dogs couldn't wake 'er!"

Hermione lost her footing. She slipped, and fell into unconscious anew.

---

Hermione opened her eyes for the first time that day. They struggled to focus in the dimly lit room.

She lay propped up against a mountain of pillows. The sheets were tucked in around her. With grim determination she summoned the strength necessary to twist her head sideways. Mrs. Potts perched on an armchair- needle poised- with a tangle of patchwork resting at her feet.

The patchwork was squirming.

_Either that's alive or I'm hallucinating_, Hermione considered.

A nose poked out from under the pile.

"Button!" Hermione squeaked.

Mrs. Potts dropped her needle.

"Oh, deah! You're awak'!"

Button crawled out from under the pile of multi coloured squares.

"Button is glad!"

Hermione smiled.

Mrs. Potts stood. She bent and searched through the material.

She elicited a bottle of dark red potion.

"Time for anotha dose, deah, doin' you that world a good. We've all bin worried, we 'ave. Specially Master Malfoy."

If Hermione had the strength to laugh she would have been in hysterics.

Mrs. Potts seemed to read her mind.

"As worried as Master Malfoy get's tha' is. He's a closed being he is. A quiet thinka. He doesn't show all his cards, you know."

_A quiet thinker? Malfoy! Ha! He 'thinks' about no one but himself. Where is he now? Out celebrating mudbloods 'death' most likely,_ Hermione brooded.

Mrs. Potts plucked a spoon from the folds of her skirts. She poured the liquid into the spoons bowl.

"Open wide, deah."

Hermione obeyed.

The second it touched her tongue Hermione's eyes rolled in her head.

Hermione could describe the sensation of the liquid slipping down her throat as being like tasting liquid fire as it licked at her insides.

With such burning warmth came the overwhelming desire to snooze.

"That'sa girl. Sleep it off. We'll chat when you're feelin' betta."

---

Hermione was near positive that it was night when she next woke. The eerie sensation that she was in danger of the rooms many shadows- the creatures of the night- strengthened her belief that this was indeed the case. She gulped feeling exceedingly alarmed. She looked to her left to where Mrs. Potts has been seated when she last awoke. The arm chair was still at her side, and it was not vacant, but Hermione near gasped in surprise at its inhabitant.

_Malfoy?_

The young warlock was sprawled across the chair. His legs hung over one arm, while his head rested in the niche of the other. He was sound asleep.

It was not the person Hermione had been seeking, indeed Mrs. Potts was most likely in her own quarters now, but Malfoy offered a strange sort of comfort none the less.

The fire sparked across the room, lighting only fragments. Hermione found she was able to move without causing herself too much aggravation.

She rolled onto her side and bumped into something hard. It was the fairytale book.

Someone had slipped it under her pillow.

_How kind of Mrs. Potts_, she thought.

She pulled her arm out from under the tight, crisp linen of her taught sheets. As she reached for the book she noticed her arms- bare for but the petit silk sleeves that covered her shoulders.

_My nightie? How did I get into my nightie? I was too tired after dancing to change… I fell asleep still in my day clothes…So why am I now in my nightie? Someone must have changed my clothes…_

Hermione panicked. She gulped down her fear.

_But no, no, no, no, no, no, no! NO! That means someone would have seen me in my underwear…or worse…naked…NO!_

Hermione stared, open mouthed at Draco.

_NO! It couldn't have been, not him, not him. No, it had to have been Mrs. Potts…but then, would she have been able to move me by herself?_

A little voice inside nagged at Hermione that no, she wouldn't have been able to.

_Malfoy! That little worm, that little, no, surely he couldn't have, but, no, n, he must have…_

At the thought of Draco undressing her, Hermione cringed.

She screamed, "MALFOY, YOU PERVERT!"

Draco jerked awake. He toppled from his chair to the floor.

"What?"

He noticed the furious Hermione- who was now hugging her shoulders to herself- and brightened.

"I see you're awake," he muttered, "most of the castle knows also by now."

Hermione responded with a bellow of rage.

"You!" She snarled.

She struggled to pull herself up, off her pillows. Another scream escaped.

"Me? What? Mudblood, stop the pathetic screaming! You having nightmares or something?" Draco looked genuinely alarmed.

"You pervert! You little pervert!"

Draco was now staring at her wide-eyed.

"You- you-" Hermione choked. For once, her vocabulary failed her. As hard as she tried, she could not articulate what she wanted to say.

Draco stood.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hot, angry tears burned Hermione's eyes. She shut them, quick to hide her shame.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Malfoy?"

"Should I get Mrs. Potts?" He barked.

Hermione sunk back into the welcoming comfort of her pillows.

"Did you look at me naked?" Her voice came out hoarse from screaming on a sore throat.

Draco looked as if he'd been slapped.

"Did I- what?" He repeated, flabbergasted.

"Did you or didn't you UNDRESS ME?" Hermione screeched.

Malfoy paled.

"ANSWER ME!"

Colour rose in Draco's cheeks. He met Hermione's watery gaze and saw the humiliation residing there. He opened his mouth.

"Granger, what makes you think that I would want to do something as ridiculous as that?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

**Startling Coincidences **

Hermione stared, unblinking at Draco.

"So you- you didn't change me into my nightdress?" She asked.

Draco turned away from her.

"No," he stated.

"Are you-?"

"Of course I'm telling you the truth! What wizard in his right mind would want to- to look at such an ugly mudblood?" Draco exploded.

Hermione flinched.

"It's disgusting."

The sharp eyes that had aided Hermione so often when seeking out essay flaws or errors looked upon him with confusion. She scrutinised him. Logic was her best friend; she simply had to find sense in this new obscure scenario.

Draco continued, his vice rising triumphantly. It was the cry of a harsh wind, cold and painfully sharp.

"I have far too much purity to want to tarnish my good family name with the likes of violating some poor muggle born!"

Hermione's head reeled at the sudden attack. The more she analysed the situation, the less sense it made. At last she settled upon the only real solution she could conjure- Malfoy was simply being Malfoy. She had attacked him, and had done so falsely, so naturally he had to retaliate to boast of his victory.

"Your 'good' family name? You're a bunch of murderers you are! YOU ARE BETTER THAN NO ONE! GET OUT!"

Draco bared his pointed teeth.

Hermione repeated her order, somewhat feebly.

"Get out…"

She collapsed back into the sanctity of her pillows. The strength mustered to scream at Draco had drained her beyond imagining. Despite the doses of medicine, her strength was yet to return to its best.

Draco stood stock-still, his fists clenched tightly.

Hermione opened her mouth for the third time and the only sound that escaped her lips was the shaking rumble of a cough. Slowly, the cough grew. It increased in strength, rasping at her lungs, clawing at her throat's raw flesh, pilfering her air. Her breaths came in gasps; she was in the midst of a full blown coughing fit.

Draco's eyes widened with alarm. His rigid stance softened. In an instant he was at Hermione's side.

"Granger, you'd better not be faking…"

Hermione answered with another gasping cough. Draco reached into his robes and elicited a familiar elixir. It was the same blood red concoction Hermione had drunk form earlier. Draco summoned a spoon.

He pulled the cork; the liquid spilled from the bottle into the spoon's silver bowl. Draco reached for Hermione's jaw. His fingers- as cold as death- pried her writhing mouth open with gentle ease.

His free hand poised above her gaping, wobbled, then tipped. Liquid spilled into her mouth. It trickled down her throat like a trail of fire. Heat radiated from Hermione. She steadied.

Draco's fingers lingered for a few brief moments before he at last relinquished the tight grasp he had on her chin. The expression on Draco's face was hard to read. As usual, he hid his emotions well. Draco leant towards Hermione. The sudden closeness bought reminisces of the dancing escapade from the day before.

Draco locked eyes with the now calmed Hermione.

He smirked.

"…Because if you were it would be a pathetic way to win a fight."

Draco rose from the bed. Rage fought against the drowsiness the potion had bought. Hermione struggled to remain conscious.

"Malfoy…you…wart," she mumbled.

Sleep overwhelmed her. At last, willingly, she gave in to powerful slumber. She rolled to her side and in doing so knocked the fairytale book- half hidden under her pillow- to the floor.

---

The morning greeted Hermione well. She woke in good health. Her fever had deserted her during the night and for the most part her usual demeanour had been restored.

The only flu symptom she had to show for her bout of malady was a scratchy throat.

Hermione remarked to herself as she made her bed, "it's not as if I'll be needing to play the song bird though, so it's really no problem at all. I'll still be able to show up that rotten Malfoy."

She chuckled.

The chair by her bedside had, of course, been empty when she dawned. Hermione had also noted that the fairytale book had been placed in her 'nurse's absence.

Hermione tiptoed to the chair to retrieve the volume. She picked it up.

_I do wonder…_Hermione thought whilst she eyed the cover. _About the book's divination skills…could it have predicted my illness?_ _I do wonder…Wonder with a sceptical eye._

She nestled into the comfy chair.

Eagerly, the last few lines Hermione had read were sought out.

Hermione recollected the story. The prince had just visited to deposit the 'witch princess' (_of all things,_ Hermione thought) with new clothing. She had dismissed him with a few well-selected phrases. And then…had she slept? Hermione trawled the page.

_"…The day died and the princess slept. A new day dawned with a news…"_

Ah, so she had slept, Hermione smiled, pleased with her shrewd eye for detail.

_"…The royale announcer tooted his trumpet at the Princess's door._

_'Fair maiden, I beseech thee! Thou begins this day with oh glorious news! Preparations for a wedding of magnanimous proportions art well to give birth to this moment. Thou shalt wed the Prince and be glad!'_

_The princess near cried with the news. Today she would begin the rituals of a wizarding wedding with the one her heart longed for not…"_

Hermione considered this to be a plausible concurrence. Yes, Dobby had greeted her that morn with news (yet not with wedding news specifically) and yes, she had signed the blood contract ensuring she would under go the wedding preparations with Malfoy, but surely, it was all, once again, mere coincidence?

_"…The prince arrived late. He snarled at the princess,_

_'and how art thou this fine morn? Sick with sorrow for the likes of thee is forced to marry this vile villain- as thou doth mark me!'_

_The two rehearsed the wedding feats in vengeful silence._

_That eve, the princess fell ill to exhaustion. All the eve, and all the day, she could scarcely take breath, so thick was her fever._

It was simply startling how similar the fairytale and her own situations were. Hermione reassured her panicky self that the book was mere coincidence. Divination was trickery and lies. It wasn't real at all.

Yet, the reassurances failed to halt the little voice that nagged at the back of her head- _but that's what you thought about magic, too, isn't it? And look how real that turned out to be!_

Hermione pushed her thoughts to the side. She continued her reading.

_"...The nursemaid by her side was her only companion. Yet, in her drowsed state the princess knew not who it was, nor cared. It was only when her health had recovered did she know of who had rested by her side, cared for her, and medicined her fragile health. Ever thankful, the princess longed to seek out this soul who she could not recall to praise their fine efforts. The prince revealed it to be himself._

_'But why?' The princess shook her head, crowned in golden locks. 'Thou hates me so and yet thou have aided me beyond need!'_

_The prince replied with a malicious tongue._

_'It is so that I have need for a wife! Thou is naught more than a piece of the blacksmiths' ore. I will mould thee, change thee to serve thine own purpose, but always will thee remain naught more than what thou began as- a scrap of some forsaken metal!'_

_The princess vowed to withhold any further kindness for such a demon. She refused to banter with him nay longer._

_'I have completed thou's first wedding task. I shalt complete none further for such a tyrannical fiend!'_

_The prince threatened the princess with talks of death and torture. The frightening words contorted the princess's resolve. It was with words that fair maiden buckled, not for act._

_'For fear of thine life, I shalt perform for thou. I beg kindness.'_

_The prince laughed._

_'Thou have danced with thy, next thou shalt join in honeyed melody.'_

Hermione cringed. If the book were, indeed, outlining Hermione's situation, she (along with her croaky throat) would be singing with Malfoy today.

_Book, I beg of thee,_ she thought in mock Shakespearian, _let this once be not a startling coincidence._


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

**Silence is Golden**

Draco burst into the room loudly. The grand entrance startled Hermione. She dropped the book. Draco laughed at her misfortune.

"Did I give you a fright, Granger?" He cackled nastily.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

Draco crossed the room to her. He bent and picked up her book, proffering it to her, an olive branch of peace. Ever stubborn, Hermione looked away.

"Granger," he began gently.

Still, Hermione refused to meet his eye. The book hung heavy in the air between them.

"Take the book."

Silence.

"GRANGER! TAKE THE BOOK!"

Hermione shot Draco a shifty look out the corner of her eye. He was fuming. She had after all, rejected his lone attempt at being nice.

_It was a poor attempt, though_, she reassured herself, _and so I have every right to treat him just as he treats me…_

It was with reluctance that she begrudgingly accepted the book.

"Why are you being so civil this morning, Malfoy?" Her voice came out a croak. Hermione was surprised to find that it hurt her to speak.

Draco stood.

"Because I can't afford to have you upset, today. You're little illness has put us behind schedule."

Hermione rasped, "but surely you would be glad to postpone the proud nuptials for as long as possible?"

Draco's face contorted as a mixture of emotions battling to break through his mask.

He looked pained.

"Father deems that we keep to schedule. If it was left to me, there wouldn't even be a wedding." He spat.

Hermione slung herself off the chair. She set the book in her place. Light footsteps courtesy of her tiny feet- pattered gently across the cobblestones as Hermione made her way to the fireplace.

"But it's not up to you," she said smugly, "So you had better be a well-behaved little boy and play nice."

Draco bellowed, "what do you think you're doing? Come back here!"

Hermione looked over her shoulder at Draco. Then, she looked back at the fireplace.

She pushed her hand against the fifth stone to the left and the wall parted, revealing the spiralling staircase leading to the hidden bathroom.

"I, Malfoy, am going to take a bath."

She disappeared down the steps leaving Draco cursing under his breath.

---

Hermione wrapped a towel around herself. She couldn't stop grinning.

_Who's in control now, Malfoy? ME! Score one to Hermione!_

She was ecstatic about her newfound power- even if it was only temporary.

_For surely_, she thought,_ it's bound to ware off at some stage. I'd better enjoy it while it lasts._

Hermione brushed her teeth. Never had she felt so glad to the daughter of not one, but two dentists. She snapped her peppermint fresh pearls at her reflection, feeling elated.

The feeling vanished upon her return to her room above.

Draco sat at the end of her bed seething. A bundle of clothing rested by his side.

Hermione struggled to retain her intimidating air. She attempted to sashay into the room but tripped on the last stone step of the secret passage and went flying. She landed in a heap at Draco's feet. The hidden room's entrance grinded to a close behind her. Thankfully, Hermione's towel had remained firmly wrapped toga-style around her person.

Hermione lay flat on her stomach. With a resigned sigh, she forced herself to look up. Draco bent to meet her miserable gaze.

"Have a nice bath then?" He asked, his mouth twitching.

Hermione replied with a curt, 'yes.' The pain bought on by speaking that lone syllable was enough to make her wince.

She watched as he savoured the moment. He inspected his nails.

"Looking for something?"

Hermione cringed as she realised what the bundle next to Draco consisted of.

"You have my clothes," she moaned.

Draco simpered, "yes."

"But, but, they-" Hermione spluttered.

"No, they aren't yours. They're mine. I paid for them. I am at liberty to do as I wish with them."

Hermione registered how very wrong she had been. How very wrong, indeed. She had not won; she had just succeeded in making Draco angry.

"And so I shall," he continued, "if you want them you'll have to, as it were, be a good little girl and 'play nice.'"

Hermione had suspected that this would be the case.

_Pure evil. The blackmailer!_ She raged.

Wistful as a spinster in mourning, Hermione pined for her wand. How she longed to utilize several of the worst kind of hexes on her cruel captor. Gingerly, Hermione assented. She stood and nodded, indicating that she accepted the deal.

"Very good." Draco chimed, sounding not unlike Hagrid when he had attempted to toilet train Norbert, his rare Norwegian Ridgeback dragon. Hermione felt a pang of loss- she missed her friends, her family, Hogwarts.

A silent tear slipped out and slid down her cheek.

Draco narrowed his eyes at the sight of it. Hermione- determined not to be taken for an emotional wreck- brushed the tear aside. She held her hand out. Draco, looking slightly puzzled, sifted through the bundle. Hermione jabbed her hand at him again. It was a gesture of fury. Unfazed, Draco continued his search. Hermione flapped her arm at him.

"Calm down Granger, I just want to ensure you look half decent for a change. Ugly as you are-" Draco stopped himself.

He glanced at Hermione, searching for a reaction. She glowered.

Draco smirked. His search upended a lacy white bra and matching underwear. They fell to the floor unnoticed by Draco. Hermione's face burned with shame. She rushed to collect them. Draco held his right arm out. It prevented Hermione from moving any closer.

"Patience Granger," he drawled.

Hermione near wept. The lust for revenge that raged within Draco was great. He eyed each piece of clothing with slow, careful, scrutiny. The wait was agony. At last, he elicited a set of dark blue dress robes in a shiny silk. They dark blue acted as background to the delicate Chinese styled patterns enamoured in the material. The sleeves were long, and the cut was modest. The collar branched to the base of Hermione's neck, and was buttoned with shiny black fastenings. A wide, thick black sash was tied around the middle. There was a slight cut arching up from the base of the skirts to Hermione's waist. It was only a small opening, but Hermione acknowledged that it would reveal some amount of her legs none the less. In her opinion, 'some amount' was far too much. Any amount was, in fact, too much. Hermione preferred to cover her body up as much as she was able. The only body parts Hermione acknowledged as acceptable were her teeth. Anything else was shameful. Ugly.

Again Hermione was faced with the horrible lurching of her stomach that arrived- right on cue- along with the idea of her ugly self, wearing something so beautiful. Such feelings had risen to the surface on few occasions. Hermione recollected the painful memories. She saw herself at various points in her life.

She was five and refusing to wear a pretty pink party dress to a muggle girl's Birthday party because, what did it matter? The children would only ignore the dress and tease her about her freckles.

She was nine and frightened of going to the school disco in a pair of sparkly jeans because her legs were lumpy and 'not the proper shape.'

She was fourteen and forcing herself, ordering herself, into her Yule Ball dress only because one of Dobby's knobbly jumpers wouldn't have been in accordance with the dress standard.

She was sixteen and weeping about her new lacy nightgown that she had to wear because what other choice had she?

_And now…now this,_ Hermione thought.

Draco held the garment out to Hermione and she recoiled.

"What?" Draco's eyes glinted. "Rather walk around naked would you?"

Hermione snatched the clothes from Draco. Avoiding his steady gaze, she bent and retrieved the fallen white undergarments. She turned away from him, her face flaming. A push of the magical stone in the fireplace conjured the hidden bathroom's entranceway. Hermione traipsed down the steps into the depths of the tower.

After changing, Hermione ogled her reflection wearily. Earlier assumptions had been correct- the triangle of a gash in the garment wound itself up to her waist, revealing shreds of her bare lily-white left leg. The more she attempted to smooth out the troublesome gape, the wider the berth seemed. Such a predicament made Hermione writhe with frustration.

_Stay shut!_ She silently ordered. _For Griffindor's sake you can near see my underwear!_

Panic rose. Hermione fretted further.

_I- I- I- can't do this! I CAN'T!_

A quiet calm stole over her as her logical, lateral thinking mind whirred into action.

_Calm down, calm, and breathe. Breathe! Forget the dress. Distraction! Consider philosophy, Ancient Runes…what was that joke Professor told in class? "I knew a antysitennial if ever the was one! 'Four by three poyock,' said he to me! And an Egyptian tomb amounts to Hispanic bupkis! Har har har…"_

Hermione snickered. It was a brilliant joke.

_Hilarious! Even more so if you had read that recent article on Poyock published in The Medicinal Magic Journal…_Hermione smiled at reminisces.

_A brilliant joke! And yet…and yet the only people who laughed in class, who actually got the joke, was sir and I…_

She bristled at this thought.

_Rather silly of them really, they would have laughed if they had done their homework. More fool them missing out on such a classic! Hispanic bupkis!_

Hermione giggled once more. Lost in happy intellectualism, her woes were far behind her. It was only when she attempted to tie the garments thick black sash that they sneakily resurfaced.

_I'll have to ask Malfoy to help me._

Hermione practically cringed at the idea. On cue, Draco entered the lavatory. He stood- poised- on the final stone step, his shoulder arched against the entrance. Arms folded across his chest, he oozed impatience.

"Wondering where you got to Granger," he drawled.

Hermione merely shook her head. Her throat ached, and it pained her to speak. Needless to say, she would not be wasting any more of her precious few words on her nemesis.

Draco was not pleased. "I come down here out of concern for your well being, and all you can manage is a shake of the head?"

Hermione shrugged.

"SPEAK MUDBLOOD!" Draco roared.

Hermione scowled. She indicated to her throat, then to her mouth. The charade concluded with her shaking her head. Again.

Draco bared his teeth. He was livid.

Hermione shrugged, as if to say, There-was-nothing-she-could-do-about-it.

_Ha ha ha ha!_

Draco growled, "sore throat? Well, how convenient! Seeing as the second part of the itinerary has us singing today!"

Hermione was like a dear caught in headlights.

_The book was right_, she thought.

"What's the matter Granger? Can't sing either? Didn't think so!" Draco raged.

Hermione bit her lip.

"And why the hell are you still down here? You're dressed!"

A thought pounced upon Hermione.

_He came down here when he knew I was down here getting changed…I COULD HAVE BEEN NAKED! Doesn't he have a shred of respect for other people's PRIVACY?_

The need to scream, yet the knowledge that it would be like setting a Minatare on her raw vocal cords, was enough to make her shake. The only response Hermione could give was to stamp her foot.

"What's wrong with you NOW?" Draco demanded. "You look like a four year old having a temper tantrum!"

Hermione balled her hands into fists. In doing so, she scrunched the sash she held. Suddenly remembering that she needed assistance, she held it out to Draco, and mimed tying it around her waist.

_See Malfoy? I haven't finished getting dressed at all! HELP ME!_

"What? Oh, I see, you can't reach around your waist…"

_Was that a jab about my weight?_ Hermione wondered.

She tossed the sash at Draco.

"Alright! All right! Settle down! Come here!" Draco ordered.

There was a spark of laughter quivering in his voice.

_Enjoying himself at my expense! He thinks it's funny that I can't speak…_

Hermione stomped over to Draco.

"Turn around," he smirked.

Slowly, Hermione whirled so her back was to Draco.

"Now then. Arms up!"

Draco slid his arms around Hermione's middle and tugged her back into him. Hermione scrunched her eyes shut.  
_Let this all be a bad dream…_

The sash slid through the gape that her outstretched arms made with her body, and snaked around out the other side. It was pulled. Tight. And Hermione was pulled back, dodgem car like, into Draco. The sash was knotted at the crook of her back.

"Done."

Hermione opened one eye. She peeped at herself in the mirror. Both eyes fluttered open. Hermione spun around, and ruefully admired the complex bow Draco had constructed.

"Wow," Hermione croaked in her gravely voice.

Draco smirked in a self-satisfied manner.

"So you _can_ speak Granger. Well, oviously. You did speak this morning, slightly less than usual but you spoke none the less."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Such eveidence leaves me wondering how 'ill' you're throat really is."

Hermione burbled, "It hurts to speak Malfoy. So, unless I have to, why should I speak at all?"

Draco retaliated with a cold stare. He replied through gritted teeth, "we have a job to here. I have a job to do here. And I can't complete it without you. You need to speak. Hell, today, you need to sing!"

He turned on his heel. A bark issued from over his shoulder, "so put your hair up, take a little medicine and get on with it!"

Hermione watched him leave.

_For the show must go on,_ she thought miserably.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

**Engagement Gift**

Before Hermione exited the bathroom, she decided to make the effort to follow Draco's advice and put her hair up. Investigations of the bathroom cabinet (recently filled by Mrs. Potts with all manner of beauty products- for as she said, 'a bride's got ta mak' 'erself beyootifa!') revealed an assortment of hair-type goods. A sturdy set of brushes ensured her bushy hair, tame as a patch of wildflowers, was smoothed back into a Chinese style bun.

_If only I had a set of chopsticks_, Hermione reflected jokingly.

Further searching revealed a scarcity of chopsticks. Instead, she settled upon a simple black hair band.

_Malfoy! Where does he get the nerve to tell me how to dress? First he's picking my clothes out, now he's telling me to put my hair up! The worm!_

These thoughts saw Hermione climb the stairs in a huff. She reappeared at the top of the staircase, a sneer plastered across her face. Draco was focused on several sheets of parchment. A loud cough from Hermione made him snap to attention. He looked up.

An odd look passed over his features.

"I couldn't care less what you think!" Hermione barked, "So there's no need to sit there like a mute whilst you think up some 'witty' remark, because it'll fall on deaf ears! Besides, you handpicked this whole ensemble. You think I like putting my hair up? Well I don't! I prefer to keep my hair down and cover my face up as much as I can. Know why? BECAUSE I'M UGLY!"

Draco looked away. He stared at the floor, frowning.

"LOOK AT ME MALFOY!"

Draco kept his eyes down. He looked confused, lost in a world of his own.

"MALFOY!"

"Oh shut up Granger! You look…different. With your hair pulled back, I mean."

Hermione couldn't believe her ears.

"Wh-?"

"I SAID YOU LOOK FINE!" Draco thundered, eyes still to the floor.

The comment took Hermione aback.

"You need medicine, right? For your throat?"

Hermione mumbled that yes, she did.

"Anything else?" He snapped.

She thought about it for moment. Still dazed she replied half teasing, "I could do with some chopsticks."

At that Draco stormed out. Hermione took a seat at the end of her bed. Her head had the odd sensation of being filled with cotton wool. She struggled to piece together some thoughts.

_I thought I'd beat Malfoy to the chase…but…did he just…I think he did …but he couldn't have…or could he…did he just compliment me?_

She blinked several times, and then rubbed at her eyes.

_I am awake._ _This isn't a dream. It's reality. A bizarre one, yes, but…did Malfoy just compliment me?_

The same thought whizzed about her mind, chasing itself. Logically, it didn't make sense.

_Did Malfoy just compliment me? He can't of…he's too cruel…yet he did…but he couldn't have…Did Malfoy just compliment me?_

No sooner than he had left, Draco returned. His arms were laden with items.

"Granger, here."

Draco thrust a jar into Hermione's arms. She was forced to attention.

"What's this for?" She asked.

Draco answered by depositing another object upon her; a spoon.

"It's that medicine for your flu, Mrs. Potts had it in the kitchens," Draco growled.

He nodded to the spoon.

"And that is a spoon."

Hermione looked up from her lap.

"Well, obviously," she interjected sarcastically.

She watched Draco for his reaction. He appeared slightly off balance. His face played between varied emotions. He appeared angry at first, then almost immediately clamed. At one point he looked sorely tempted to smile. The stance he at last settled upon was cold.

His usual demeanour returned and forced his previously baffling behaviour to retreat. A cruel snarl curled his upper lip. Hermione was lost. Draco had never been so out of control with his emotions. He was always a picture of cool, calm and collected. It was frightening to witness the confounding change in him.

"Malfoy?" she tried kindly.

Again, it appeared as if Draco's emotions were battling against one another. And again, his usual harshness proceeded to victory.

"Never thought you could sound so tender Mudblood. 'Malfoy?' Pathetic. Getting worried about me were you? And I thought you preferred it if I didn't speak! Although, even if I don't speak, you could probably then complain that I don't listen. Well ha! I do listen! I got you your bloody chopsticks, didn't I?"

Draco flung his last parcel onto the bed. Hermione stared at it. Strangely, she found her mouth unable to form words. She opened and closed her mouth like a fish out of water.

"Well, open it!" Draco bayed.

Hermione obeyed. Gingerly, she tore the gift from its soft tissue paper. Two long, thin black chopsticks fell out onto her lap. She picked one up and examined it at length. The thicker end was mounted with a string of thin blue jewels. They wound their way up and around the tip like delicate sparkling vines.

"Sapphire?" Hermione whispered.

Draco watched her through lowered lids. He folded his arms across his chest.

"Yes," he murmured, "Mrs. Potts asked for them the day she finished your robes. She said one particular item needed a special type of hair clip. Chopsticks, of all things!"

Hermione looked up at Draco.

"But- but surely- they didn't have to be so, so lavish?" she babbled.

Draco turned away from her.

"Perhaps you are aware Granger, that it is customary for the groom to present his bride with an engagement gift. Whilst this wedding is a charade, it's a charade that has to be carried out properly."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"This is a gift from you, to me?" she whispered.

Draco exploded. He spun round to her.

"FATHER SAID I HAD TO DO IT! I didn't do it on my own back! I was TOLD to! Made to!" He fumed.

Hermione dropped the chopstick in fright. It clattered to the floor loudly.

"Oh now look what you've done! You really aren't much good for anything, are you Granger? Clumsy twit!" Draco chastised.

He bent to retrieve the hair clip. Hermione couldn't comprehend what was happening. She had done nothing, nothing, at all to upset Draco. Yet, he was attacking her as if she had wreaked havoc upon his entire life. Tears blurred her vision.

"They're no good separate! If you break one, what good is the other?" Draco continued.

Hermione pushed the tissue and remaining chopstick to the side and attempted to get up- she wanted to run, to leave, and to be free of Draco and his furiously contradictory cruelty. Draco straightened from his crouch as she stood. He presented the clip to her on bended knee- a mock proposal. He then began down a spiral of venomous proportions.

He spat sarcastically, "Oh foul mudblood so-"

He stared up into Hermione's brokenhearted eyes and into her gaping soul.

"So, ug-"

He swallowed.

"So-"

He couldn't finish.

Hermione hiccuped. "So ugly you mean?"

Draco pushed the chopstick into her hands.

"So ill. Drink that medicine. We have a job to do."

Hermione took the chopstick. Her eyes watered still. She blinked furiously to rid herself off them.

_Was he trying to be nice...or not? Maybe I'm taking this all the wrong way…one minute I think he's nice and the next I'm sure he's pure evil and can't possibly have been trying to be nice at all…_

She took both chopsticks, and swiftly entwined them into her bun. Draco stood.

"You ...match now," he said gruffly.

Hermione cocked her head to the side. Draco's behaviour baffled her- a girl who couldn't be baffled.

"Drink Granger!" Draco stormed.

Hermione took up the spoon. She gently drizzled some of the medicine bottle's crimson liquid into her spoon, and down her throat. Instant relief soothed her raw vocal cords. She found that it no longer felt as if her throat's flesh was being scourged with gravel.

She spoke, "my, that's better."

Draco simpered sarcastically, "Well then, don't I deserve to take bow for such a job well done?"

Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

_Wait. Before you initiate muggle world war three, consider this… If Malfoy was indeed, attempting to be nice, why don't you endeavour to return the favour?_

Hermione reluctantly responded not with a sharp, piercing comment but an olice branch. The action was a sign of peace. A joke to lighten the mood. She bowed low, in immitation of a Chinese chic bow.

She smirked, "oh Master Malfoy. Many thanks of this one to another."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitched.

"What is this Granger?" He asked.

"I am dressed in a Chinese style today, am I not? I am simply keeping in theme. You asked for a bow, and this is how the Chinese bow."

Hermione wavered. _Come on Malfoy, laugh! Laugh! Don't just leave me standing here making a fool out of myself! I'm trying to be NICE!_

Hermione was not used to acting jester- Ron was the comedian in her group.

_I've got to try though, don't I?_

She bared a mock Asian styled accent. It was of poor quality.

"What ish the sound ofa one hand clapping? Mashta Malfoy?"

_That was an atrocious accent, not to mention offensive!_ She thought, _Just the kind of thing Malfoy should love._

Draco stared at Hermione for a long while. The silence was deafening.

_Laugh oh please laugh Malfoy!_

And all at once he did. It came as a halting sharp bark- a sound unfamiliar to Hermione.

"Granger- that- is- the- worst," Draco gasped for air between bursts of laughter, "the- worst- accent."

Hermione giggled joyously._ He laughed!_

"Awful!" Draco chortled.

"Well, it's not like you could do any better!" She challenged.

Draco's laughter faded. Hermione swallowed, suddenly fearful.

_Now you've gone and done it! Why did you have to say that?_

Draco surprised her again. He did not rage, or scream at her, or call her a filthy mudblood, he did something entirely unexpected. He bowed.

"Ah, Mish Granger, you shink you have the besh accensh? I thinksh not!" He cackled.

Hermione burst into relieved hysterics. Draco joined her. When they had at last calmed down, Hermione spoke.

"You know, Malfoy," she began.

Draco looked at her, "yesh?"

They roared with laughter again. Both dropped to the floor.

Hermione finished, "The accents- I think both were pretty terrible."

She convulsed with giggles. Draco stared at her wide-eyed. He shook his head. "Oh no, you must be mistaken. Mine was far worse than yours."

Hermione sat up and crossed her legs in a matter-of-fact manner.

"Sir, I believe you are mistaken. Mine was the inferior accent!" She stated.

Draco pretended to think about it for a minute. Hermione stared at him, grinning Cheshire like.

"Actually, now that I think about it, it was kinda lame, Granger."

They laughed.

_Who knew he had it in him? He laughs…just like a normal wizard._

Hermione stopped.

"Malfoy, this is an eye opener for me," she said.

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean?" He asked, a cold glint returning to his voice.

A feeling nagged at Hermione, an overpowering hint of instinct that begged her to keep her mouth closed. Stubborn as she was, Hermione ignored instinct and answered the loaded question.

"It just goes to show that you can be nice."

Malfoy stood up abruptly.

"I can be nice? What is that supposed to mean mudblood?" He sneered.

She winced. Draco noticed and approved.

"MUDBLOOD! That's right! You're a mudblood! You're filth and I'm pure. That's all there is to it. There's no 'nice' and 'cruel,' there's class. The blood class running in your veins," he roared.

Hermione couldn't understand it. How could someone change so fast? It was like there were two Draco's, one that struggled to be nice, and another that almost always overpowered the latter in a savage, uncontrollable rage.

"I don't want to hear anymore! I'm sick of being called a mudblood! I hate it! And I hate you!" She screamed in frustration.

Draco looked as if he'd taken a blow to the head. He blinked dazedly at Hermione.

"You- you what?" He solicited.

Hermione repeated her sentence in a hollow tone. It seemed to echo throughout the room, an ear splitting whisper.

"I hate you."

A fleeting emotion passed over Draco's features. Sorrowful mourning. Such an emotion was proof enough that Draco had let his guard down. If Hermione had blinked she would have missed the rare sight.

She felt a sudden pang of regret at the thought.

_I hurt him,_ she thought.

Draco recovered quickly. His reply came icy, "The feeling's mutual."

Hermione scowled.

_I hurt him...But not enough._


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

**Stage Fright**

"I want to finish this!" Hermione plead.

Draco sneered, "So do I!"

They ogled each other furiously.

"So let's get on with it then!" Hermione roared.

Draco shot back, "fine by me!"

Hermione ground her teeth. "What's next on the list?"

Draco smirked, "are you stupid Granger? I already told you it was singing! The couple MUST have a sound knowledge of the Wykesteral Wails. Like I said, that's the 'I do's' but in song."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

"And what if I- I don't want to sing?"

As hard as she tried, she could not hide the wobble that inflicted her voice. Singing frightened her like nothing else.

Draco threw back his head and laughed.

"Ane what if I don't want to marry you? Nobody cares what we want. It's what needs to be done."

The emphasis on need gave Hermione a strange, knees-turned-to-jelly feeling.

"But I- I- really don't want to!" Hermione tried. Her voice was shrill.

She tottered unstably. Draco pulled out his wand, whisked it threw the air and conjured a chair under the shaky Hermione. She collapsed into it with gratitude.

"Th- thank you," She stuttered.

Draco lowered his wand. He eyed her wearily, as if unsure of what she might do next.

"Well I could hardly have you just passing out on the floor, now could I?"

He paused to shoot a death glare at her.

"That's stone, Granger. You could have hurt yourself," he explained sardonically.

Hermione replied with force, temporarilly forgetting about her singing woes, "Don't talk to me like I'm a naïve child. I'm sixteen Malfoy, not six."

Draco responded with a casual flick of his wand. A cord of white parchment, dotted with inked music notes, unfurled out of thin air. The sheets of music fell to the floor one after the other, finishing in a sizeable pile. The last rustles chilled Hermione to the bone. She shuddered.

"You look a little worried Granger. What's the matter? Frightened of a bit of paper? That sounds like the behaviour of a six year old to me…" Draco simpered.

Hermione shook her head desperately.

"itsnotthempaperI'mafraiof, " she blurted, words running together in a torrent of confounding speech.

Hermione's hand shot up and clamped itself firmly over her mouth.

_Why did I say that?_

Draco feigned surprise.

"Oh _really_? I never would have guessed."

Hermione shook her head. She kept her mouth closed.

Draco watched her intently. After several uninterrupted minutes of silence he understood the meaning of Hermione's quiet composure.

He sighed, "So you've taken a 'vow of silence' again? No doubt this is one that medicine won't be able to fix."

Hermione merely tightened her lips. The pursing gave her the impression of having eaten a particularly sour lemon.

"I'll take that as a yes," Draco scowled. "That's going to do bloody well for the world, isn't it? Do you know how behind schedule we already are? Today is Tuesday! We only have 'till Saturday to finish this mess. The wedding is this Saturday. This Saturday Harry Potter, along with pathetic little Weasly, will at last…"

Hermione let out a cry.

"No!"

She shook with rage. Draco's words had scared her. The idea of Harry or Ron dying was simply too much.

_How could Malfoy be so insensitive?_

Draco looked genuinely alarmed.

"Granger?"

Hermione murmured through gritted teeth, "I don't think that's something I want to hear Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth to retort but Hermione silenced him.

"If you're trying to coax me into singing then it's definitely not what I want to hear."

She paused to take a shallow breath.

"How would you like it if I slipped the death of your friends into casual conversation? Wouldn't you get upset?"

Draco blinked.

"Friends?" he repeated tonelessly.

"Yes! Or- or family!"

Draco lowered his gaze to the floor. He was quiet for a long while.

"Well?" Hermione demanded eventually, unable to withstand the mounting tension, "Wouldn't you get upset?"

Draco met her penetrating stare.

"Yes," he said quietly, "I think I would."

Hermione hastened to revel in this newfound knowledge.

"And why is that?" She pushed.

Draco glanced up at her. He surveyed her straining features; every inch of her was poised taut, awaiting 'the true confessions of evil Malfoy's blackened heart.'

He said, "I don't care for that analytical nonsense Granger."

Then he selected a sheet from his pile and handed it to her. The action forced Hermione to change the subject.

"No!" She squeaked.

She brandished the parchment back at him.

"Don't you know what 'no' means Malfoy?"

Draco smirked. Already his cold composure had returned. He was in control once more.

"Don't you know what 'Imperious Curse' means Granger?"

Hermione snorted in rage. He had backed her into a corner. The Imperious Curse would see her plans fail. She would never be able to help Harry and Ron if she was imperiorised. There was no way out of it- she would have to sing. She decided to attempt a final hopeless argument, one that would appeal to an area Draco encased in hardened steel. His heart.

She sighed dramatically, "Fine Malfoy! I'll sing along to your wicked little tune. Seeing as I am dressed in a Chinese theme, I suppose it's fitting that I also behave in such a manner. For what am I now but the Emperor's Nightingale?"

Hermione pretended to peer at the music sheet before her. She sneakily peeped over the top at Draco, eyeing him closely for a reaction. His brow furrowed in deliberation.

Hermione thought gleefully, _oh come on Malfoy! Ask me! You know you want to, you big dolt! Your pure blood assures me that you wouldn't be able to tell a plug from a lawn mower. Ask me about the emperor and his nightingale…ask me about a muggle quirk…_

"Granger," Draco began.

Hermione looked up sharply from behind the notes.

"Yes?" She asked innocently.

"Stop spying on me." Draco said.

_Damn him! He's cleverer than he looks, the worm!_

"Oh," Hermione sighed.

"And," Draco said.

"And?" Hermione repeated hopefully.

"And…what exactly is the 'emperor and his nightingale'?" Draco asked resignedly.

Hermione could have whooped with joy.

"It's a muggle tale. A Chinese legend. Something the likes of someone as pure blooded as yourself would never be interested in, nor understand," Hermione challenged.

Draco rose to the bait instantly.

He barked, "Try me!"

Hermione straightened in her chair.

"No, I don't think I will."

Draco pointed his wand at her chair and it collapsed from under her. She fell to the floor.

"Oh, I think you will, Granger."

Hermione twisted her nose. Draco grinned.

"Fine! Have it your way! Story time it is!" Hermione burbled.

She stood, rubbing at her tender backside.

"Ouch," she moaned, "that really hurt."

Draco rolled his eyes. He indicated to the bed.

"You want to…?"

Hermione drew short of breath.

"Do I want to WHAT?" She roared indignant.

"Do you want to take a seat on the bed, Granger? A seat!" He yelled.

Hermione blushed scarlet.

"What did you think I was suggesting?" He inquired. His voice was thunderous.

"Oh, noth-nothing," she stammered.

Draco stalked to the bed, Hermione followed numbly. She kept her eyes to the floor, humiliated by her own words. She clambered onto the bed next to Draco, who positioned himself stretched out cat-like on the end of the bed. He looked very much like a pompous emperor himself.

"Tell me this fable," he demanded.

Hermione struggled to find a comfortable seating position. She eventually settled, cross-legged. She noticed that Draco scrutinized her as she wiggled, and her discomfort increased. Try as she may, she could not shake the feeling that her and Draco being in such close quarters was... _Dangerous. _It was almost as if a sparks of electricity- magic- existed in the very air itself. Hermione felt strange, scared almost.

_I wish Ron was here_, she thought. A pang of loss skittered across her chest.

_What is wrong me? Why do I feel so…nervous? Snap to attention! You have a heart of steel to smash here! Break down his defences; make him see it your way! Don't let him force you to sing…Tell him a tale that'll melt his icy exterior!_


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

**The Nightingale **

Hermione looked out from under her lashes. Draco was still watching her. A sarcastic sneer plastered across his face.

_How am I going to manipulate the master of cool? No wonder I'm so nervous, if this fails, then I'm going to have to- to sing! And then I'll really play the fool..._

She bit her lip. The story of the Emperor and his Nightingale had been her favourite when she was young. Her mother had read it to her when she tucked her in at night.

_A story, a tuck in, and a kiss…I miss mum._

Hermione pushed the thought away. She had a job to do- there was no time for her tears. The only person she wanted to see cry was Draco. There would be time for her tears later.

At last, she settled upon a suitable opening. It was typical, yes, but would allow her to slip into narrator mode with ease.

"Once upon a time…"

Draco rolled his eyes.

Hermione ignored him and pressed on.

"…In a land further than far away, in a time older than time itself, there lived an Emperor. This emperor was no ordinary emperor; he was old, important and very, very special. He was the Emperor of China. In his home among the jade hilltops, he lived a life of luxury. His palace was a majestic piece of architecture. The white marble temple stretched up, up, up, to the heights of the blue abyss above. Flecks of gold had been mixed in with the marble so that when the sun rose every morning, the land would be speckled with glittering lights. Three fierce red dragon statues guarded the palace. Legend said that the dragons came to life when a stranger attempted to enter. They would roar their mighty roars, and blow flames as colourful as the Asian Sunset to scare away the intruders. The palace was surrounded by a beautiful garden. Many different flowers filled the garden, flowers of blood reds, dark blues, golden yellows, soft pinks, harsh oranges and harmonious purples. There were round trees, fat bushes, tall drooping plants and foliage of all kinds. Many a tropical bird lived there. Often peacocks could be seen to parade between the scattered oriental screens covered in rose vines. Dotted throughout this lush garden were fountains. Cool crystal pools of blue for the birds to drink and bathe in. Tall hedges surrounded the gardens boundaries so that onlookers passing by the base of the hill could not glimpse the beauty above…"

Draco interjected, a frown upon his face.

"That sounds rather stupid Granger, why would anyone want to hide such wealth?"

Hermione smirked a Draco-ish smirk.

"You see, Malfoy, the Emperor was a selfish man. He did not want to share such beauty with anyone else because he wanted it all for himself. If he publicised his tranquillity, then it would be most likely that all would desire it. He thought that perhaps, too many people using the gardens would destroy their beauty. So, rather than risk their destruction, he locked them away. After all, an ugly land is a sad land and the Emperor needed as much gladness in his sad, lonely life as he could manage."

Draco scoffed, "Muggles are so thick. He locks himself and his gardens away because he is 'sad' but if he opened his gardens to the public he would be happy because he would no longer be lonely!"

Hermione laughed. Draco waged war against the poor logic of the tale like a child would throw a tantrum. He eyed Hermione quizzically.

"What's so funny?" He asked.

Hermione halted her chuckling.

"Oh, nothing. Look, do you want to hear the rest of this story or not?"

Draco sighed, "yes."

"Good."

Hermione gave a very Umbridge like cough.

"_Hem hem_," she began, "All the wealth that the Emperor possessed could not buy him happiness. It brought beauty to his life, but in a strange artificial way. True beauty is not a secret garden of sculptured magnificence but a tiny naturally crafted piece of nature. The Emperors gardens were mere imitations. They held no real majesty, so they really bought the Emperor little joy. Always, the Emperor sought out what he could not find- pure happiness. Such a rare valuable is only fleeting. You cannot own it. Someone owning a piece of joy would not own it for very long, and if they did, it would become tainted and no longer bring contentment."

Hermione paused for Draco's snort of disgust- surely he would label this particular piece of philosophy 'soppy'- but was surprised to hear only a pressing silence.

She continued, "People must create happiness- they do so when they are together. Friendship and love create a beautiful harmony. This is the secret to happiness- a secret plain to you or me, but not quite as obvious to the selfish Emperor. He believed only in that owning stunning possessions would bring him joy. As you can see from the tale so far, this is very far from the truth. The Emperor has no friends; he lives alone, surrounded by his 'happiness' with only slaves for company. It is just as he wishes it to be, yet his wishes bring him only sorrow."

Draco interrupted, "people have different perceptions of the truth."

Hermione nodded. "He refused to believe that his belief system was flawed. Good observation. Very good."

She frowned. It had been a good observation. She had made a similar one the first time she had heard the tale. Hermione was reminded of her earlier thoughts.

_He's cleverer then he looks…_

Draco cocked an eyebrow, as if he had just read her mind.

"You're not the only smart cookie 'round here, Granger. Just because you beat me by a hair at schoo-"

Hermione cut him off, "excuse me?"

Draco shrugged, "it's the truth."

"You- Malfoy- are the second best student in the grade?" She petitioned, disbelieving.

Draco eyed Hermione coyly.

"Yes."

It was inconceivable.

"But- but- you're Malfoy?"

Draco nodded, "Yes, I am Malfoy. That's my _name._ Granger is your name. Well, last name"

"But you! Of all people!"

"Granger, you can't tell me you weren't aware that I was your competition? I was certainly aware that you were mine!"

Hermione shook her head dumbstruck. Her mouth gaped.

"All this time- you? You've been second best?"

Draco gritted his teeth.

"That's one way of wording it."

"And I never knew! I always guessed that, well, maybe someone from Ravenclaw…"

"No, Granger, it was me."

"Gosh," Hermione said thickly, "you must have really-"

"Hated you?" Draco finished.

"I was going to say 'worked hard' but…"

"Yeah, well, I did that too."

"You worked hard?"

"YES!"

"Wow."

Hermione drifted off into oblivion. She found it hard to comprehend the fact that Draco, of all people, was her understudy. _He can't be the second best! That would mean that he, Malfoy, was… _Hermione nearly laughed out loud as her own words repeated their past performances. _…Cleverer than he looks._

Realisation dawned upon her.

_The studious handwriting, the classical choice in quill style, the intellectual collection of books on the bookshelf…this explains everything. It's undeniable. Malfoy is smart._

"Granger, are you or are you not going to finish your story?"

"Oh, yes, sorry." Hermione mumbled, startled. "Many years passed and the Emperor grew older, sadder and lonelier. So it went that on one warm summer day, the Emperor fell ill. Unable to move from his bed, he could not look out into the gardens he treasured, and had no source of comfort. The last day of the season dawned early for the Emperor. He could not understand why he had awoken so early.

'Perhaps,' he reflected, 'I am at last going to die.'

He waited for death to steal him away from his pain, but death did not come. Instead, a beautiful bird never before seen in the gardens of the Emperor, landed in a tree outside his bedroom. Ordinarily the Emperor would not have been alerted to such a routine occurrence- he had no windows in his room to view a bird's comings and goings- but on this occasion the Emperor was made very much aware of the unusual bird's presence. It had begun to sing. The song that met the Emperor's ears was beautiful. The most beautiful kind of happiness the Emperor had ever known. It was of sweet purity. Tears welled in his eyes as the song of the Nightingale ended. He could not bear the thought of losing his last chance at happiness. He summoned his chambermaid.

"Zu-li! Bring me that bird from the garden! I must have it! Cage it! Bring it to me!" The Emperor demanded.

Zu-li was the most faithful of all the Emperor's assistants. The Emperor cared for her very much, although he did not even know it.

Zu-li bowed.

"Master, that bird is native to the village I come from. It is a very special bird. We call it the Nightingale."

The Emperor stroked his long white beard thoughtfully.

"Yes, Zu-li, the Nightingale. It is a fitting name for such a wonderful treasure."

"But Master, the bird is not a treasure! It is a cursed bird. Anyone who attempts to keep such a bird for himself will lose a treasure far greater in its place! My villagers have tried many times to cage them. Each time one bird is caught, one of the people in the village has had their life cut short…"

"Hush Zu-li! It is legend and nonsense! Bring me that bird before it leaves for good!"

Zu-li tried to argue further, but the Emperor would not budge. He demanded Zu-li bring him the bird. In the end, she had no choice but to bend to his will. Zu-li bought the bird to the Emperor, trapped in a cage made of wood. She hung it by his bedside. Strangely enough, the bird would only sing when Zu-li was near. So the Emperor had Zu-li stand by his bedside along with the bird. When it had sung one song, Zu-li said, "Emperor, now it has sung for you will you free the bird?"

The Emperor refused.

"No Zu-li! I will keep the bird a while longer. I am feeling better than I have in years. Let the bird stay for a day, I am sure that by tomorrow I shall be feeling quite well."

The bird sung for the Emperor all day and all night. It sang of freedom. The more the bird sang, the better the Emperor felt.

"I feel wonderful Zu-li! This is the most joy I have ever felt!" He said.

Zu-li begged the Emperor to free the bird.

"Please, Emperor, now that you are well, won't you please free the bird?"

The Emperor refused.

"No Zu-li! I will keep the Nightingale a while longer. I am sure that in another week I shall be well enough to walk again. I will keep the bird until then, and then I will free it."

By the end of the week the Emperor was indeed well enough to walk.

"I feel fantastic Zu-li! Look at me! I am walking again!" He said.

Again, Zu-li pleaded with the Emperor to free the bird.

"Master, it has been one week and you are walking. Will you not free the bird now?"

Again, the Emperor refused.

"No Zu-li! I will keep the Nightingale a while longer. Won't you at least let me enjoy my newfound health until the end of autumn? I should like to keep the bird until then."

But the end of Autumn came and went, and with the it's demise a cold winter began. Still, the Emperor did not free the bird.

Zu-li, who had not moved from the Emperor's side all these months, had grown to know the Emperor quite well. The two had become more then slave and master; they had become friends. It was with a heavy heart that Zu-li asked the Emperor to, again, release the Nightingale. She did not wish to anger her friend.

"Please, Emperor, it is now winter. Won't you release the bird?" She implored.

Just as she had feared, the Emperor got very angry with her.

"Zu-li! Do you not see how happy I have been these past months? This bird has made me very glad! I do not have intentions of ever freeing this bird! I will keep it forever. This will ensure that I am forever happy," the Emperor roared.

Zu-li could do nothing to change the Emperor's mind. A new cage was ordered for the bird. The Emperor had the bars fashioned out of gold. A plaque hung over the top. It read: '**Here lives the greatest treasure on the Earth. The songs are crystal clear in their purity. This bird is the beauty of happiness.**' Underneath, in smaller script, it read: '**Property of The Emperor.**' Shortly after this, Zu-li fell ill.

The winter months wore on. Snow fell. The cold was the harshest the country had ever experienced. For every day that the Emperor prolonged the release of the Nightingale, the more the snow would fall and the sicker Zu-li would grow. Her condition continued to worsen until the time came where she could not get out of bed."

Hermione paused to inspect Draco. His features appeared not mournful,as she had hoped, but blank. The story was having far less of an impact on him than she had expected.

"Zu-li's bed had been placed next to the Emperor's when the bird had first been bought to the room. The Emperor was very saddened by Zu-li's illness. The Nightingale would always sing whilst Zu-li was in the room, but the songs did not seem to stir the Emperor as they always had before.

"Zu-li! Zu-li! Please, tell me, what can I do?" He beseeched.

Her breathing was very heavy. Each breath was agonising.

She gasped, "Emperor, you must free the Nightingale."

The Emperor shook his head angrily.

"Zu-li! You know I cannot do that! The bird is the only thing that makes me happy! Not even my gardens…No! I will never do it!"

Zu-li coughed. She said, "then, my dear Emperor, I must say goodbye."

And she died."


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

**A Tale With A Twist**

Hermione glanced at Draco. She had hoped to view emotion, and so was thoroughly disappointed when Draco's face appeared to harbour naught. It was as blank as a sheet of parchment.

_What's the point? He's never going to…_

Draco interrupted Hermione's train of thought.

"Granger."

She jumped, startled.

"What?" She barked.

"Is that the end? Of the story, I mean- I mean come on, it can't just end there. That would be rather pathetic."

Hermione cocked her head to the side.

"What?" She asked again.

"Well, he can't just die! Why don't you finish it properly?"

Hermione pursed her lips.

"Look, Granger, I was good enough to sit here and play story time with you. You should at least honour me with the ending," he scowled.

_What the-? What is going on here? He's not upset, but he wants to hear the rest of… this is ridiculous! He's just playing with my mind. Well, Malfoy, two can play at that game._

"What if I told you that was the ending?" She asked innocently.

Draco gave a barely noticeable twitch.

"What?" He exclaimed.

Hermione's earlier words echoed about the tower.

"What?" He repeated, somewhat louder.

"I said, what if I told you that was the end? Hm? You wouldn't be disappointed would you?"

_Disappointed in me, like I'm disappointed in you! You emotionless buzzard!_

Draco stared at her for a long time. Hermione cringed under the surveillance.

"No Granger," he said slowly, "I wouldn't."

Hermione hated herself just a bit for always being right.

_Of course Malfoy wouldn't care, _she thought, _He's Malfoy._

"You wouldn't?" She parroted.

"No, I wouldn't be disappointed at all. I've learnt not to expect great things from you Granger. I knew you wouldn't even manage to tell a quaint little tale well. Low expectations ensure one lacks the burden of disappointment."

It was Hermione's turn to stare.

"You- you- you-" Hermione stuttered. No words came to aid her. She could not retaliate. Defences were down. The only thing Hermione could think to say was something she most definitely did not want to say. She stubbornly refused to blurt out the only thing that would prove Malfoy wrong- the ending to her tale. She felt like screaming in anguish. Every avenue of response had been explored- she had nothing. She would have to say it, it was the only way, the only way of winning…

_What have I become? The desire to win has crafted me into someone with shaky morals. I shan't sink to his level, I can't, I won't!_

And then she did.

"The Emperor mourned Zu-li and her passing. He clung to the Nightingale for comfort.

"Please, bird, you must sing and cheer me. I have surely never been in more need of your service!" He begged.

Try as he might, the bird would not sing. It's beak remained firmly shut. The Emperor knew it would not sing while Zu-li was not at its side. He had Zu-li's body cremated, and placed in a marble vase next to his bedside.

"Now, bird, you must sing. Zu-li is here! Please! Please!" He begged again.

The bird remained silent.

As the winter days wore on, and the Emperor's condition depleted, so to did the Nightingale's. It's glossy coat of feathers moulted and dirtied. Any food placed in front of it would not be eaten. It grew weak from starvation. The Emperor's grief was insatiable. It filled every pour of the palace. Not only was Zu-li gone, but also his precious beauty- his happiness- was dying.

On the last day of winter, the bundle of bones and stretched skin that was once the Emperor's Nightingale, gave a harsh cry and burst into flames.

The Emperor stared at the empty golden cage, numb with shock. He searched for some emotion, any emotion, but found he felt nothing for the bird's passing. He only felt anger towards himself.

"But this old Emperor has been a fool. I AM A FOOL! My precious bird of beauty, of happiness, brought me nothing but sorrow. In my blind greed I did not see the true beauty that had always been before me. My Zu-li. All those many hours she never strayed from my bedside. Her company created happiness within me. Not a bird and its songs. It was the beauty of friendship that I drew my strength from. Blind! I was so blind! I thought only of the bird, but the bird…If only I had seen it sooner. I could have set the wretched bird free, and Zu-li would have lived. I destroyed my own happiness."

The Emperor stared at Zu-li's vase.

"I placed Zu-li here so that the bird would sing. How disrespectful. Zu-li deserved only the best! She deserved only the most beautiful resting place."

The Emperor slipped out of his bed. He picked up the great vase with difficulty.

"Zu-li will share with me what I had been so greedy as to hoard only for myself."

He stopped at the Nightingale's cage. The sign blared loudly at him.

'**Here lives the greatest treasure on the Earth. The songs are crystal clear in their purity. This bird is the beauty of happiness.**' And underneath, '**Property of The Emperor.**'

The Emperor set the vase on the ground. He placed a hand both sides of the cage's sign, and tugged with all his might. Slowly, but surely, the little screws gave way. The Emperor struggled. He panted heavily. With one final burst of strength, the sign was wrenched free. He pocketed it. Then he undid the complicated lock hanging from the golden cage. The door swung open. He reached inside. Cupping his hand, he scooped up the ashes of the Nightingale. He added these to his pocket. Then, he proceeded to lift the vase and carry it outside, into his gardens.

The Emperor threw the ashes of the Nightingale into the wind.

"Now you are free bird. Free, at last!" He cried.

He decided to bury Zu-li's ashes under a tree in the centre of the garden. It was tiring work, and the winter winds were harsh. Despite this, the Emperor did not pause for a moment. He was insistent on completing his task. He worked on through the day, and for most of the night. Servants searched the palace rooms for him. Not one came to look in the grounds. It was snowing heavily. 'Surely,' they thought, 'he had the sense not to wander outside in the cold.'

The break of dawn saw the Emperor heave his final pile of dirt over the vase. He had finished.

"Now, for the tombstone," he sighed.

Tears poured down his cheeks. Fingers, numb from the cold, brushed them aside. He extracted the little gold sign from his pocket. He took up a sharp rock. He scratched at the gold surface for as long as he was able. He felt himself slowly losing himself to cold death. On his last breath he plunged the sign into the earth at the foot of the tree.

"Happy," he muttered. He fell, dead, to the frosted ground below.

Dawn that day was the most beautiful the kingdom had ever seen. The blurred colours seemed to breathe life into the land that had seemed so dead those long winter months. The snow melted. Flowers blossomed. Village children rejoiced in their towns, for they at last could go outside to play. Everyone in the land wore a smile that they could not explain. It was the first day of Spring.

When the servants at last found the Emperor, they were shocked. The land beneath him had thawed, and flowers more beautiful than any the garden had ever held before had sprouted about his body. Most interesting of all, they thought, was the sign that rested at the base of the gardens tree. In the years to come, villagers from all over China would come and pay homage to the Emperor. They would picnic in his gardens, admire the beauty, soak up the contented air and ponder over the curious golden sign nestled amongst the gardens most illustrious flora. Some lines were scratched out, unreadable. Some were carved in a rougher fashion. When all were read together they stated a peculiar message.

'**Here liveD the greatest treasure on the Earth. This is the beauty of happiness.**' And underneath, '**Property of The Emperor's people.'**

Each year, on the first of spring, the gardens of the Emperor thaw in the light of dawn and the flowers burst into life. If you venture there with a friend to witness the spectacular event, you may even be fortunate enough to hear pure happiness. The song of the Nightingale."

Hermione finished with a whisper.

"The End."


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

**A Monster**

Draco looked disgusted.

"That's it?"

Hermione frowned.

"What do you mean, 'that's it'?"

"I meant exactly what I said, Granger."

"So you obviously meant to offend."

"Yes, that was my intention."

"Didn't you feel anything? Anything? Were you happy for the Nightingale or, or, maybe you felt sad about the deaths? Anything?" Hermione pleaded.

Draco clamoured off the bed hurriedly. He stalked to the door.

"I FELT NOTHING!" He roared over his shoulder. He left, slamming the door behind him.

"Wait!" Hermione called feebly. The word lapped as gentle as a wave over the emptiness of the room. Emotions that had run so high for so long, on mere hope, crashed into Hermione. All at once she felt the full weight of defeat. Draco had felt nothing. She had failed.

"Wait," she whispered, her voice cracking, "for me."

Hermione hated Draco more than she had ever hated him. She hated him for being so cold; for upsetting her; for leaving her alone in such a frightening place. The terrible truth of it all made her weep. This was her world now. A dark tower of shadows where the enemy possessed the only shred of light. Draco Malfoy was a cruel, heartless being- a monster. Not a knight in shining robes.

Hermione hugged her knees to her chest, balling herself into a knot. She howled at the thought that Draco felt nothing. And probably never would. She would never be able to manipulate him to save herself, and her friends. Memories of happier days drifted across her bleary eyed vision. Wasted opportunities.

_I should have told mum and dad I loved them more often. I should have thanked Harry for always being there for me. I should have squeezed Ronald Weasly back whenever he gave me one of his little 'happy to see you' hugs. I should have gabbed hold of him, Harry and life…and then I shouldn't have ever let them go._

She resigned herself to misery. Quite content was she to sit and sob until the wedding day.

_Everyone has to die at some stage._

The thought whirled about her head for a time. It was not until it had settled into its allotted corner that Hermione had a spark of a rebellious idea. Draco's firey query seemed to suddenly awaken her from her depressed trance.

_That's it?_

She sniffed. Another memory of a very different warlock talking cut through her sudden idea of accepting death.

_'I said to Slughorn, 'one of my best friends is a muggle born and she's the best witch in the grade!''_

The memory dispersed, only to be replaced with the echoing statement, _that's it?_

A different voice spoke.

_'Blimey, Hermione, there's no need to get upset. That Pansy's a dog. She's half the witch you are."_

Again, Draco's sharp voice ricocheted off the walls of her mind. This time it boomed, louder than ever.

_THAT'S IT?_

Hermione unfurled herself, like a blossoming flower.

_No! That's not it! What am I doing even thinking about giving up? It's not over until I deem it to be so! Who cares if I can't manipulate Malfoy? There are other ways to de-wart a toad. I have to keep trying. For Harry… And for Ron._

She climbed off the four-poster bed and trekked down into the bathroom to tidy herself up. She splashed cool water over her puffy face, and adjusted her Chinese bun, pulling back any wayward hairs.

_All right Malfoy, you may have won that round but you won't win the next. I'm ready and roaring to fight for my freedom._

She ascended the stone steps back up to the tower. The boy wizard she so expected to meet upon her return was, however, not present to greet her.

"Malfoy?" She called.

Only an echoing silence replied.

_Fine then. Be that way. You want me to sit it out. HAH! I can sit it out! You've got to return some time, Malfoy, and when you do, I'll be waiting._

She plonked herself down on her bed, picked up the fairytale book and settled in for a stake out.

_'Thou have danced with thy, next thou shalt join in honeyed melody.'_


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

**Singing Scales**

Hermione snapped the book shut. Her usual panic bubbled up, filling her with dread.

_When Malfoy returns, there's- there's no way out of it! I'll have to sing!_

Fallen scraps of parchment littered the floor beneath her feet. Aged golden paper imprinted with bold ink strokes; musical notes. Hermione bent to retrieve a lone piece.

It was titled: _The Toad in Toadsville._

She shook her head. It didn't make any sense. Draco had told her that they would be singing the Wykesteral Wails- a wedding ode. The Toad in Toadsville sounded nothing like a love ballad to her. She read the verse out loud.

"_There once was a toad_

_In Toadsville_

_Who lived by a road_

_Of road's till_

_He was merry and bright_

_Blinking bubbly_

_Quite right_

_Drinking doubly_

_What he ought have_

_Not done_

_When he trav-elled_

_In sun-_

_Light as a feather_

_Being a swimmer_

_And or whether_

_It meant him slimmer_

_Or wiser and fatter_

_With the wine_

_Did it not matter_

_For he was fine_

_Was old warty the toad_

_From Toadsville_

_Who lived by a road_

_Of road's till_."

Hermione laughed. In her distracted state she forgot she was expecting Draco, so she was completely surprised when he appeared at her side.

"Boo."

Hermione squealed and dropped the parchment. Draco cackled.

"What'sa matter Granger? I scare you?"

Hermione folded her arms across her chest.

"Hmpf!"

Draco smirked.

"I did, didn't I?"

"How did you get in here without me noticing? I didn't hear the door open!"

"Probably because you were too busy reciting poetry."

Hermione blushed.

"They're song lyrics Malfoy! Your song lyrics! You're only poking fun at your self. I mean, _The Toad From Toadsville_?"

Draco's face reddened. He snatched the parchment out of Hermione's hand in high dudgeon.

"These are vocal warm ups!" He explained furiously.

Hermione chivvied, "sound more like nursery rhymes to me."

"I wouldn't expect you to understand, Granger. The extent of your vocal ability is limited to do-ray-me."

Hermione furrowed her brows in confusion. Draco looked gobsmacked. His mouth swung open, forming a perfect 'o.'

"You literally do not know, do you? Do-ray-me? The simplest of singing notes! Wow. Granger, you have really surpassed your own boringness. You don't sing. You don't dance. What do you do for fun?"

Hermione felt her eye twitch. Her hand shot up automatically to soothe the pain, covering her left eye. Draco misread the gesture.

"Oh in the name of Salazaar, you're not crying AGAIN, are you?"

Hermione turned away from him, if only to hide her features so twisted in rage. She seethed. Treacherous thoughts buzzed angrily about her head. Thoughts she refused to speak out loud simply because it would mean she would have to speak to Draco, and that was something she presently could not bring herself to do. Time dragged on. The tower resonated silence.

"Granger?" Draco called, in a tone somewhat softer than before.

Hermione squared her shoulders.

_That little toad! I swear, when I get my hands on a wand I'm going to-_

"I- I- look, I'm sorry," he murmered.

_WHAT? _

Hermione spun round. Her eyes bulged.

"WHAT?"

Draco looked incredibly alarmed. Almost surprised, as if he hadn't even expected himself to speak the words.

"I- I-" He stuttered.

Hermione screamed, "WHAT?"

"I- don't know. What what? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT FOR?"

Hermion took a breath. In a calm, controlled voice she said, "_What_, as in _what_ did you just say?"

Draco's face paled. His usual control had dissolved in the chaos, allowing himself to fully display his bungying emotions. He began to back away from Hermione, wide eyed.

"I- honestly Granger, I really, don't know…I just thought-"

Hermione stepped towards him. She mustered him backwards towards the tower wall. When he thumped into the cool stone his composure completely dissolved. He seemed to shrink under Hermione's domineering glare. She leant towards him with her hands on her hips.

"What did you just say to me?"

The words tumbled out in a frightening whisper.

Draco crumbled.

"Sorry. I said I was sorry."

Hermione glowered.

"And why did you say it?"

Draco's eyes darted about looking anywhere but into Hermione's eyes.

"Because- you were upset. I- upset you. And-"

Hermione was shaking her head in disbelief.

_I can't believe he actually apologised. And he's not even denying it!_

"And-"

"Malfoy, look me in the eye."

Draco snapped to attention. His skittering gaze settled upon her face.

"And-"

Hermione bubbled with excitement. She nodded encouragingly.

"Go on," she pushed.

Draco stared up, into her bright eyes. They seemed to blaze in all their chestnut glory and dance in gay victory. Hermione felt sure she was on the verge of conquering Draco.

"And-"

Draco's body tensed. His rattled features froze. The frown dissolved into a sneer.

"And I didn't need you getting all upset on me again, not when we're already so far behind schedule. It's easier to apologise then to argue with you. Now, if you don't mind, two words. Back. Off."

Hermione obeyed numbly. Draco stalked over to the pile of parchment, and hastily began to separate it into piles. A lone thought sparked into life and drifted about Hermione's shocked mind.

_He apologised under false pretences._

The very idea of it bought a smile to Hermione's face. She was not fussed about Draco's explanation of the apology, but more or less the apology itself. No matter which way she looked at it, or for whatever reason Draco said he did it, it happened.

_Draco Malfoy did something I never thought he could do. He apologised._

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

_I wonder what else he's capable of doing?_

She forced herself to wipe the smug look from her countenance, and stumbled over to Draco. It was time to sing for not supper, but freedom. The knowledge that she might be one step closer to saving herself and Harry and Ron pushed her onwards.

She cleared her throat. Draco looked up.

"Right Granger, over your little drama? Here."

He jabbed a sheet of parchment at her.

"These are scales. Best to start off simple. Go stand over there, centre of the room. It'll have the best resonance."

Hermione took her place. Draco collected a few more sheets, then followed suit. He stood before her, wand raised- the perfect image of a conductor.

"Let's begin. Repeat af- Oh, for Slytherin's sake! What do you think you're doing, Granger?"

Hermione frowned.

"What? I'm not doing anything. I'm just standing here!"

Draco lowered his wand.

"That's the problem. Look at you! The way you're standing- it's abysmal. How do you expect to sing standing like that? You need to stand up straight. Diaphragm has to be clear."

He thumped over to her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled them back. The pain cracked through her like a shot.

"Shoulders straight!" He chastised, "terrible posture."

He slid his hands round her middle, and pulled her back into him. Hermione gasped for air.

"When you sing, you need to be able to breathe! Can you breathe now?"

Hermione wheezed, "no."

"Then what made you think that you could sing like this?"

He released her.

"What about now?"

Hermione coughed, "yes!"

"Turn your neck to the left slightly," he next ordered.

Hermione swung it around as far as she could stretch.

"SLIGHTLY!" Draco thundered.

He grabbed Hermione's neck, and twisted it sharply.

"Now point your nose up ever so slight- NO! SLIGHTLY!"

He positioned her neck again.

"Now, chest out. Slightly."

This time Hermione took careful measure to ensure she stuck her chest out only the tiniest of bits. She had no desire to have Draco handling anything in that area.

"Good," he praised.

He took up his previous position.

"Clasp your hands just under you rib cage. That's where your diaphragm is, in case you didn't know."

Hermione snarled that she did know where her diaphragm was, thank you very much, and promptly clasped her hands in front of her.

"Repeat after me…"

Draco opened his mouth and colour flooded his cheeks. Hermione cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, mister song bird? What seems to be the matter? Stage fright?" She taunted.

Draco sneered, "no."

"Well, then, sing."

Draco opened his mouth and again, nothing came out.

Hermione smirked, "see? It's not so easy to sing in front of your enemy, is it?"

Draco looked thunderous.

"Shut up Granger!"

"No! I don't think I will, Malfoy. Now you should finally understand the point of my Nightingale story. It's cruel to cage a creature and force them to do your bidding. It's cruel to make me sing in front of you!"

Draco sang a high, sweet note, halting Hermione's protests.

" _'It's cruel to make me sing in front of you_,' " he mimicked, "whatever mudblood. I have no fear and neither should you. NOW OPEN YOUR BLOODY MOUTH!"

Hermione bit down on her lip hard and angrily. Blood spurted through the cut. Draco rolled his eyes skywards, and flicked his wand. The cut sealed itself.

"Enough of the dramatics. Sing!"

Hermione shut her eyes.

_Just do it,_ she ordered herself.

A hoarse note escaped her lips. It echoed throughout the tower, and then faltered. Only to be replaced by a rollicking, barking laugh.. Hermione opened her eyes. Draco stood before her, doubled over, in hysterics.

"That- that- WAS AWFUL!" He chortled.

Hermione grimaced.

"Well, what did you expect? I already told you I was no _Weird Sister_! I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket."

Draco straightened.

"Neither could I, at first. You'll learn all too soon though. I happen to be an excellent teacher."

Hermione reluctantly let out a giggle.

"Godric help me," she mumbled.

"Uh, uh, uh," Draco waggled his finger in a very un-Draco like manner, "_Malfoy_ help you. And help you I will. Else father kills me for failing. Try again."

Hermione tried time and time again. She sang in chorus with Malfoy's cursing throughout the entire morning. Her wobbly voice improved with every 'do-ray-me,' as did her mood. She was clearly never going to be as good as Draco, but it cheered her when she accomplished _The Toad Of Toadsville_ with only one or two minor cracks.

After a particularly rowdy rendition of the song, in which Draco had joined in, she collapsed onto the bed, flushed.

"I'm exhausted Malfoy, can't we give it a rest now?" she begged.

Draco was orchestrating the parchments into scrolls, and vanishing them.

"It's time for the hard work; the actual song."

He vanished two more scrolls with a flick of his wand. At last, only one remained.

"Up!" He ordered.

Hermione, begrudgingly, conformed.

"Positions!"

Hermione pushed her shoulders back, her chest out and tilted her neck ever so slightly.

"Right Granger, on the day I'll be standing next to you like so…"

He stepped beside her.

"Read off the parchment. And no, we won't have that on the day, don't even bother asking. You'll just have to learn the words. Yours are blue."

Hermione scowled.

"I could have figured that out for myself. I'm not stupid you know."

"Could have fooled me," Draco jibed.

"You are such a-"

"Sing Granger, follow the notes."

"_The Wykestrel Wails_," she sang softly through gritted teeth.

"_Ode to a wife_," Draco sang in reply.

Hermione glared, "_Ode to a husband_."

_This is horrendous. What am I doing?_ She thought.

"_So pretty and petite_," Malfoy continued.

"_So brute and_ urgh- Malfoy, please, this is making me ill. I mean, come on, I'm not going to get up there and dote upon you so. _Handsome_? Really?"

"Just sing Mudblood!"

The word stung.

"Fine! _So brute and handsome_- bleh."

"_So kind and sweet_. Ha, that's a laugh," Draco muttered.

Hermione elbowed him sharply.

"_So strong and I belong_…"

_"...With her…"_

_"…With him…"_

_"So marry me to her"_

_"So marry me to him"_

_"Forever more"_

_"Heavens hear this hymn"_

_"Souls entwin-ed"_

_"Forever more"_

_"To the witch"_

_"Or wizard"_

They chorused the last stanza together, _"I adore."_

Hermione loathed the song. She hated it just because it was everything she was not. Beautiful. More than anything she hated singing it with Draco. It was awkward.

"Malfoy, the song is awful."

"It is rather love sick," Draco agreed.

Hermione said honestly, "I really don't want to sing it with you."

Draco rolled his eyes.

"I'm not exactly lighting fireworks over it either."

Hermione laughed, "The words should be something more along the lines of…_Ode to an enemy_."

Draco chimed in, "_So horrid and emotional._"

_"So nasty and cruel_," Hermione added.

Draco retorted, "_So stubborn and clumsy._"

Hermione turned to face him. She glared.

"_So thick and unhuman_," she snarled.

Draco returned her glare with fervour.

"_So opinionated and moody!"_ He shouted.

There was a brief pause before they both chorused, "_SO SELFISH_!"

They ogled each other in surprise.

Draco switched topics, diverting them from they're simultaneous expulsion.

"I suppose, you'd rather sing the love sick song to little Weasly."

Hermione flushed scarlet.

"I suppose you'd rather sing the song to Pansy," she snapped back.

Draco smirked, "I'm not afraid of my admirers, Granger. Unlike yourself. I see the way he fawns after you, and you don't even notice it. Bet you've never noticed it."

The stunned look on Hermione's face confirmed Draco's point.

"HA! Stupid freckled faced Weasly is red-head over heels in love with you AND YOU'VE NEVER EVER, NOT ONCE, KNOWN ABOUT IT! You're supposed to be the smartest witch in the grade. What a joke."

Hermione shook her head.

_He's just trying to stir me up. Ron couldn't...Ron doesn't...no...impossible..._

"Let's finish practice Malfoy. The sooner, the better."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

**Button's Secret**

In the evening, after Draco had left (begrudgingly accepting that Hermione could do no better at singing the wedding song), Mrs. Potts and Button dropped by the tower to help Hermione design her wedding robes. The hours whiled away as they fussed over size, shape, and, of course, fabric.

Button waded through immense piles of bridal silk netting, ferrying trays of tea between Mrs. Potts and Hermione.

"Thi' cull'er is ligh'er than white, wha' duh you think?" Mrs. Potts asked, holding up a piece of material.

"Oh, I don't know, cream has always seemed pretty to me," Hermione burbled.

"Then, you'll ba wantin' a sash, M'lady."

"Button, do you like this one?" Hermione inquired. She smiled at the nervous Button, who shook violently whenever she was spoken to directly.

"Yes Miss!" she squeaked hurriedly. The tray tilted dangerously when she bowed. She hurried to save the china from crashing off the silverware, into the moat of material. Hermione darted to help her and tripped over a pile of needles. She fell headfirst onto the only piece of floor not softly padded in textile.

"Ow," she moaned, rubbing her head.

Mrs. Potts chuckled.

"Ah, deah, you shoul' know tha' Button, youngin' she is, is a fine elf. She's no' 'bout ta trip ova her own two fee'! Hah hah! You, on the otha hand…" She trailed off.

Hermione attempted to heave herself into an upright position. Button was at her side in an instant. Sheer, unbridled strength haul her right ways up; what House elves lacked in stature, they made up for in their vast stores of muscle.

Hermione ogled Button, incredulous.

"Bu-t- how?" she spluttered.

Button's left hand clung tightly to the back of Hermione's robe whilst in her right she balanced the tray of cakes and tea. She smiled at Hermione.

"But Mistress, I am a house elf! It is what I do! What I live for! What I am!" she chanted. Her green eyes blazed fiercely.

Hermione cocked her head to the side.

"You are incredible, Button," she praised.

Button shook her head furiously.

"Oh no! Mistress is too kind! It is all I do, what I live for…"

Hermione cut off her protests. Thoughts of S.P.E.W swelled and burst through her facade.

"Now, Button, surely you can take a simple compliment? Or has slavery entrenched you so deeply within it's pit of conform that you no longer feel like you can radiate the idea that you are an individual, and thus, can not bare someone praising you for being said individual?"

Button's mouth swung open.

"Well?" Hermione pushed, "what about you Mrs. Potts? What do you think? Do you condone this- this slavery of House elves?"

Mrs. Potts's eyes darted between the domineering Hermione and the dumbstruck Button feverishly.

"Well, M'lady, I don' thin' I'd care to s- say. Beggin' you're pard'n."

She ducked her head.

Hermione blinked. Her initial adrenaline rush- the one she always felt burn like fire running through her veins whenever someone dared to challenge her values- was dimming. Gradual realisation set in.

_Why do I always do this? This is not the time or the place for S.P.E.W, Hermione!_

She unclenched her fists. A deep calm settled over her; she steadied her breathing. Mrs. Potts and Button looked somewhat terrified. A pang of guilt stabbed at Hermione.

_Fool!_

"Godric forgive me, I feel silly. Mrs. Potts, I am so sorry, Button I- sorry. That was uncalled for. I just, I get so worked up over this. I mean, seeing you, Button, such a sweet, innocent little creature. A living breathing, thinking creature, caged like an animal! It just gets me upset! And then, to hear you declaring that you're whole life revolves around your 'masters.' I mean, really, Button. It just gets to me. Isn't there anything else you care about? Other than pleasing the Malfoys, I mean?" Hermione plead.

Button's eyes flicked up to meet Hermione's briefly, then skittered away. She bowed her head. Her left foot stuck out behind her, tracing invisible circles on cobbled floor. She twisted a piece of her pillow case dress in her hands.

"Well, Miss," she whispered, "If it would please you to know, I'll tell you that there is one thing I care about…other than Masters and Mistress Malfoy."

Mrs. Potts took advantage of Button's pause to busy herself with the folding of a piece of chiffon. Hermione leant down to catch Button's near silent murmur.

"Yes?" She prompted.

Button took a gulp of air and gasped a lone syllable.

"Merry."


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

**Shadows**

The tea tray Button had been ably balancing slid from the elf's tiny grasp. It clattered to the floor. Hermione frowned, confused.

"Merry?" She repeated, more to herself than to Button.

_Who or what is Merry?_

She watched as Button's eyes changed; their blazing green light seemed to flare up for the briefest of moments, before they faded out entirely. Tears doused the passionate glare, leaving Hermione to stare into eyes riddled with defeat. She longed to comfort Button, to console her anguish. Before she could stop herself, Hermione felt her arm reach out to the house elf.

Mrs. Potts coughed loudly. Hermione dropped her outstretched arm, and turned to Mrs. Potts, breaking the taut line of connection between her and Button. Mrs. Potts held a folded piece of chiffon fabric in her arms. She nodded to it.

"All don' with ma foldin' deahs!" She exclaimed in an exaggeratedly cheery manner.

The sudden haste, and over-the-top enthusiasm didn't fool Hermione. She saw it for what it was- a ploy to leave the tower. Immediately.

_Obviously,_ Hermione thought, _Mrs. Potts doesn't want me to find anything out about this 'Merry,' but why?_

Mrs. Potts pulled her wand from inside her robes. It whisked through the air furiously as she conducted the mass of fabrics streamed about the tower. Colours whizzed about the air, engulfing Hermione in a whirlwind of cloth. Each item folded itself as it floated over Hermione's head, landing in a neat pile at Mrs. Potts feet. When, at last, the floor had been completely cleared of the textile, Mrs. Potts conjured a large, wicker basket. She gave her wand a final flick and the piles at her feet lifted, and dropped into the empty basket.

"Button," she cooed softly, "Button, deah, I thin' 's time we be takin' our leave. Lady Granger is lookin' migh'y tucker'd out."

Button gave a barely perceptible nod, not taking her watery eyes off Hermione.

"Button, wait- before you g-"

Mrs. Potts hoisted the basket off the ground.

"Button! Come no'! We 'ave ta be goin'!"

Button looked over her shoulder to Mrs. Potts, then turned back to stare at Hermione. Her expression suddenly looked frustrated.

"Button?" Hermione prompted.

"Button!" Mrs. Potts called firmly.

Button gave Hermione a final, pleading stare, then dashed to Mrs. Pott's side.

Mrs. Potts pushed the loaded basket into Button's open arms, and whirled the elf round so she was facing the doorway.

"Come on no'! Button! You dilly dallyin' like this, 's no' good!" She chastised.

Mrs. Potts gave Button a little push. The elf tottered to the door with Mrs. Pott's hands prompting her whenever she hastened her pace.

"Honest'y Button, what 's an ol' lass ta do with you?" She tutted as Button stepped outside the room.

"G' nigh', deah," Mrs. Potts sang over her shoulder.

The door closed.

Hermione stared after the pair. She bit her lip. The curious dealings puzzled her. It had all happened very quickly. One moment, Button had been offering her tea, the next-

_The tea tray! Button dropped it when…_

Hermione lowered her gaze to the floor. The posh china tea set rested neatly on the stone by Hermione's feet. She bent to scoop it up. The clattering Hermione heard when the tray had crashed to the floor earlier had her under the impression the entire thing had smashed to smithereens. Miraculously enough, none of the crockery appeared damaged.

Hermione cupped her hand around the teapot. It was warm. Steam escaped as she lifted the lid to peer inside. Black liquid swirled around the pot's hollow.

_It would be nice to have a drop before I go to bed._

She replaced the lid on the pot, yawning. Slipping out of her Chinese gown, she tiptoed down to the bathroom in her petticoats to change into her nightie.

_Merry, Merry, where for art thou Merry? Art thou a house elf or a muggle? A warlock or goblin? A fiend or…friend?_

Curiosity bubbled through Hermione whilst she busied herself in the hidden bathroom. Conspiracy theories trickled into her thoughts; was Merry a hostage of the Malfoy's? Was that why it had upset Button so? Did Button want the Malfoy's to free the poor creature- whatever it was? Or was Merry a part of something far more sinister? Maybe Merry was a code or an ancient rune for-

_What am I doing? _Hermione suddenly wondered, _exaggerating things like this? It's just plain ridiculous! This tower is driving me bonkers. I need to calm down._

Hermione traipsed upstairs, chuckling to herself.

_Bonkers. I'm sure Button is fine. I'm just over-thinking things. Again._

She halted her chuckling the moment she stepped onto the stone floor of the tower room.

_Something is wrong._

The tower was far too quiet and far too dark. At first Hermione could not pin point why fear was trickling through her veins like ice. A flicker of a shadow caught her eye- had the curtain by the arch window just moved, or had it been her imagination?

The ice hastened, no longer trickling but pounding through her veins. Droplets of perspiration appeared on her forehead. Nimble as a cat, they slipped down her brow, silently merging with her tears.

It was then that Hermione realised what was frightening her so- the tower _was_ far too _quiet_ and far too _dark._

The fire, which had previously been crackling merrily under the mantle, had extinguished whilst she had been downstairs. Without a night-light to protect her from the creeping shadows of the darkness, she was left to face the horrors of the night alone.

A shudder rippled through Hermione's small frame.

_Help me._

She fought against the panic silently engulfing her in its icy grasp. Her body, already numb from shock, was rocked by rollicking sobs as they attempted to escape her chest. She couldn't breathe.

_Someone, anyone, HELP ME!_

She felt dizzy. Red dots danced before her eyes. The darkness wavered as she toppled to the floor.

Sense tried to over ride her panic. It slipped past the turmoil, and told her to breathe.

_Breathe! Stop being ridiculous! Breathe! Think logically! THINK!_

Hermione ordered herself to gulp several lung fulls of air. Slowly, but surely, her vision cleared.

_I need someone to relight the fire. If only I had my wand!_

Her thoughts whirled back to the previous couple of days when she had been ill. The shadows hadn't frightened her then…The fire had been lit and Malfoy had been with her…

_But what difference would that make? Malfoy- he hates me! Why would having him here help? _

Hermione's eyes darted about the room feverishly. The shadows seemed to be closing in, leering closer, closer…

_Although, I do need someone to relight my fire…Malfoy…It'll have to be him…I have no idea how to summon Mrs. Potts and I'm sure Button won't come, nto after what happened tonight…But how do I summon him?_

Hermione tried to maintain the control over her panic as it slipped through her thoughts. All the while, her breathing worsened. It had become far more constricted now.

_What do I do? He never told me how to summon him, he- he always just shows up! It's always whenever he's in the mood for a screaming match, whenever he wants to pop in and scare the living daylights out of me…but oh no, whenever I want him, Godric forbid, I can't just drop on by BECAUSE I'm stuck in a tower without a wand! I'm always available whenever he needs me but right now I need that stupid pompous git AND I DON'T HAVE A CLUE HOW TO GET HIM HERE!_

Hermione opened her mouth and screamed, "MALFOY!"

A loud crack echoed throughout the tower. Draco appeared before Hermione, dressed in his pyjamas. Black silk pants and a matching buttoned top hung limply on Draco's lean frame. He had a silky black dressing gown draped over his left arm. His other stretched up to stifle a yawn.

"Malfoy!" She exclaimed.

The fear choking Hermione spluttered out. Warmth flooded into Hermione's veins. The room seemed to lighten as the shadows shied away.

She pulled herself up off the floor, into a sitting position. A shaky grin slowly spread across her face.

Draco peered at her through the darkness. He wore an expression Hermione couldn't quite fathom.

"Granger? What's this about?" His voice was layered with sleep.

He stared down at her. She returned his gaze appreciatively.

"What's wrong?" He asked, suddenly sounding alert.

Hermione shook her head.

"N-nothing. Just, well, my fire's gone out. And, seeing as I don't exactly have a wand…"

Draco was at the fireplace in two long strides. He whipped out his wand and tapped the mantle. The fire roared into life, spilling light over the room. Draco turned to face Hermione. He watched her as she stared into the leaping flames.

"Granger, have you been crying?"

His voice sounded almost concerned.

Hermione blinked, looking away from the fire.

"N-no," she stuttered.

"Oh really?"

Draco raised his eyebrows.

_Think. Speak. Say anything! Act normal! Don't let him know you were crying because of…the dark. Don't let him know you were crying at all!_

Hermione shook her head.

Draco slung his dressing gown over himself. He silently padded back to Hermione.

_Remain calm._

Draco stooped to eye level. Jitters caught Hermione round her middle, once again sapping her of air.

_Calm. Breathe._

Draco cupped her chin in his hand. He turned her face to him, forcing her to stare into his glittering eyes.

"If you aren't crying Granger…" His voice trailed off.

He stroked her cheek softly with his thumb. Hermione felt the last of her air escape her lungs.

"…Then what is this?"

Draco pulled his thumb away from her now crimson cheek. He held it in the glow of the fire, for her to see. On its tip rested a lone tear.


	25. Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

**Tea for Two**

_I'm such a fool._

Hermione bowed her head in shame.

_I hate him. He always does this to me._

She sniffed, "Malfoy, you are-"

She paused, searching for a word to express her deepest loathing.

Draco smirked, "what? A pig? A toad? A creep? What am I this time Granger?"

Hermione begrudgingly looked up.

_If I didn't know any better…I'd swear Malfoy was trying to cheer me up._

Draco continued, "Why can't I ever just be…a wizard? A wizard who can sing, dance and dress immaculately. A wizard who happens to be the _second_ best student in the grade, and hey, why not, has a wicked smile?"

Draco flashed a rare pearly smile at Hermione. She gave a hiccup of laughter.

"So Granger, you _were_ crying. I guess that means I was right and you, you miss Mudblood, were wrong."

Hermione frowned.

"Why do you do that? Sometimes you can be tolerable Malfoy, but most of the time you're pure evil. Stop calling me a mudblood. Okay? It- hurts," Hermione faltered.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Then what exactly am I supposed to call you?" He asked sarcastically, "lady of the impure wizarding heritage?"

Hermione growled, "how about you just don't talk about my wizarding background at all? Here's an idea, why don't you just call me by my actual name? Hermione!"

Draco cackled, "we've had this conversation before, Granger, when you start calling me by my first name, then I'll call you whatever you like."

Hermione seethed. She folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh come now, you're not going to go all moody again, are you? Fine then, be that way. I can do moody."

Draco mimicked her, folding his own arms across his chest. He pulled his lips down at the corners in an imitation pout. Hermione twisted her mouth at the side in a grimace.

"Oh ha-ha, very funny. I do not look like that Malfoy."

Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Whatever you say, ugly."

Hermione felt her eye twitch. She ground her teeth whilst she attempted control her sudden burst of rage.

"What?!" She asked through a gritted jaw.

"Relax, Granger! You're so uptight."

Hermione shook her head.

"And you wonder why I don't treat you like a wizard! Like I said Malfoy, you're pure evil."

Draco retorted, in mock horror, "oh dear! Pure evil! Whatever shall I do?"

Hermione attempted to get up. Draco reached out and leant his hand on her shoulder, preventing her from standing. He was surprisingly strong.

"Malfoy, take you're hand off me."

Draco stared down at his arm, seemingly only just becoming aware of its position. "Where are you going?" He asked, letting his hand slide off her shoulder.

"To bed. I'm sick of your garbage," Hermione spat.

Draco furrowed his brows. Hermione jumped up, and stalked to her bed. She climbed up and over the covers, nestling herself in amongst the pillows resting against the headboard. It wasn't long before Draco followed suit. He padded across the cobbled floor, and slung himself gracefully across the end of Hermione's bed.

"Um, Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?" Hermione asked.

Draco propped his head on his hand.

"You said you wanted to go to bed. I'm happy to finish off our conversation here. It's far more comfortable than the floor."

Hermione growled, "I am going to bed Malfoy, meaning, 'I'm going to sleep.' It's kind of hinting that you should leave. Now."

Draco inspected his nails.

"Not until you tell me why you were crying."

Blood rushed to Hermione's head, she felt herself go dizzy with embarrassment and anger.

"Is this why you're acting so- so- just get out!"

"No."

"YES!"

"Granger, you're upset. I'm trying to do the 'right thing' here. Obviously, something's upsetting you. And when you're upset, father's upset, because things aren't running to schedule. You slow us down with this emotional girly nonsense. Now, hurry up and tell me what's wrong so I can fix it and make you all happy and useful."

Hermione crossed her arms.

"YOU ARE AN EMOTIONLESS GIT!"

"On the contrary, I actually feel quite a lot. A lot of frustration. Hurry up Granger. I have no desire whatsoever to reside in your quarters all evening. I have no doubt a good lot of boys would feel the same way."

A thick, red blush coloured Hermione's normally pale complexion. Draco flashed his strangely fang like, but perfect, teeth and her heart skipped a beat. She attempted to retort his insult, but she found her mouth unable to form coherent words. The shock of his words caused her to open and close her mouth like an air gasping goldfish.

"What's the matter Granger? You've gone all tongue-tied."

_I hate him! HATE HIM AND HIS STUPID WHITE SMILE AND HIS STUPID SICKENING SUGGESTIONS! As if I'd ever want to...I mean maybe someday, with someone special, but... urgh, Malfoy and his stupid inuendo's. As if anyone would ever...with Malfoy!_

Hermione felt herself dry wretch.

"Malfoy, please. Don't."

Draco cackled.

"Are my words scaring you Granger?"

"No, they're actually making me sick," Hermione croaked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

"Rest assured, mudblood, the feeling is mutual."

Hermione scowled. "Oh yes, I certainly shall rest assured. Right now in fact. I'm going to sleep Malfoy. Leave."

Draco waggled his finger.

"Uh uh uh, why were you crying?"

"For the last time, I wasn't crying!" Hermione thundered.

"You're making it very difficult to be fake concerned about your welfare right now Granger."

"You're making it very hard to go to sleep right now Malfoy."

"Fine. I'll drop the subject."

Hermione sighed, "thank Godric."

"If…" Draco began.

"If?" Hermione asked.

"If you tell me why you have a tea set sitting on the floor at the end of this bed."

Hermione cocked her head to the side.

"What?"

Draco rolled on his other side, and dangled his arm over the edge of the bed. When he pulled his arm back up, it was laden with the tea tray.

"What indeed!" He giggled girlishly.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

Draco added a high falsetto to his usually deep voice.

"Oh Miss, why do we tea today? I do love my tea! It's simply smashing! You know what else is simply smashing? Those boys from down the road! Aren't they simply too too divine?"

Hermione snorted.

Draco smirked, "But seriously, this is here because?"

"Because Button forgot to take the tea set when she and Mrs. Potts left this afternoon. Er, this evening. I think. You, know, it's strange, but I have absolutely no sense of time at all. You'd think someone had boarded up all my windows, so I couldn't tell whether it was day or night."

Draco sneered, "how odd indeed."

A sudden thought struck Hermione.

"Malfoy?"

Draco rested the tea set gently upon the bed.

"Mudblood?" he replied innocently.

Hermione resisted the urge to grind her teeth. Such a feat would destroy all of her parents hard dentistry. Grim memories of the days when she had been tramping about with braces on her teeth, flitted through her mind.

"I was wondering…you know Button, the house elf? She was talking about something this afternoon. You wouldn't know anything about a 'Merry' would you?"

Draco raised an eyebrow.

"Merry? Why would Button be talking about-"

Hermione gasped, "so you know what it is then?"

Draco sighed, "Not what it is, but who it is, Granger. Merry is a house elf. He works in the kitchens downstairs."

A bubble of happiness welled up inside Hermione.

_Button is in love! She has to be! "Mistress, there is one thing I do care about, other than Masters and Mistress Malfoy...Merry." I've cracked it!_

"Why did you desire to know about that house elf?" Draco asked coolly.

In her happy delirium, Hermione temporarily forgot whom she was sitting with. Button's secret tumbled off her lips as if it were a falling acrobat.

"Oh, well, I think Button's in love with him."

A look of distress, mingled with amusement, passed over Draco's features. Realisation washed over Hermione, bursting her golden bubble. She bit her tongue.

_Oops._


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

**Freedom**

"I can't believe I just said that. I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to say that. Why did I just say that?" Hermione squeaked shrilly.

Draco smirked, "panic makes you rather funny to watch Granger."

"Arrrgh! Why did I-? Malfoy- you- you- you- YOU! It's all your fault! It's always your fault!" Hermione shrieked.

"Me?"

Draco's eyes narrowed.

"How is you blabbing a secret my fault?"

Hermione struggled for words- something she rarely had to do. She finally spluttered angrily, "Well, you, err, you talked to me!"

Draco cocked an eyebrow. He wore an omniscient look that Hermione hated; she was the only one who was allowed to be all knowing and wise and superior. The look highlighted Draco's ridiculously handsome face. It made Hermione feel incredibly self-conscious, adding fuel to her already fiery temper.

_Stupid pretty-boy! I can't even comprehend it- me sitting here- the ugly duckling- in my far too lovely nightie, with stupid handsome Draco Malfoy. Beauty- it's the one area where I can't beat him… point me in the direction of a classroom and I'll gladly run circles around him… but here…there are no books, there's just me and him. And he's beautiful. I'm not. I am ugly, and he knows it._

Hermione blinked back hot, angry tears.

"It's still your fault Malfoy! You evil little child, get OFF my BED."

Draco showed no sign of moving.

"FINE! YOU WANT TO STAY? STAY! BUT ACCEPT THAT YOU DID SOMETHING WRONG! You manipulated me!"

Draco lifted the teapot from the tea tray. With careful dexterity, he aimed the pot's spout towards the first of the two delicate china cups. Gold, brown tea spilled into the cups hollow. Steam rose off the hot liquid. A rich herbal aroma tickled Hermione's sense of smell. She fought off the sudden feeling of calm settling over her, instead pointing violently to the china.

"What is this?" She asked, in disbelief.

Draco looked at her innocently.

"That would be tea. In a cup."

Hermione felt her eye twitch.

"No, Malfoy, what I mean is, what is this doing here now? Why is it that you are pouring tea in the middle of my argument? I'm trying to be angry with you at the moment!"

Draco lowered the teapot to the second cup. Tea gushed from the spout.

"So?"

Hermione felt like she was going to explode.

"So you should be concentrating on what I have to say! I can't argue with you, if you aren't arguing back! Or even listening!"

Draco set the teapot back onto the tray.

"Who said I wasn't listening?" He pursed his lips, "tut tut. Granger, I'm not trying to distract you, or ignore you, I'm just trying to make an effort. It would be nice if you tried too. If I've said it once, I've said it twenty three times; we are on a schedule here."

Draco ignored Hermione's scathing gaze and continued, "Now, stop feeling guilty about leaking that silly House Elf's "big secret." In the future, I'd also appreciate it if you didn't vent your rage at me. You're the one who slipped up, after all."

Hermione opened her mouth to scream at Draco, but he merely waved her protests away.

"Uh- uh- uh. What did I just say about venting your rage?"

With great effort, Hermione managed to prevent herself from leaping on Draco like a wild Hippogriff. The desire to tear Draco limb from limb was oh-so powerful, but logic helped her push it aside.

Draco smirked. He was obviously enjoying himself.

"We all slip up at some time or another Granger."

Hermione raised her eyebrows sceptically. She could scarcely believe Draco had just uttered such words. 'We' and 'us' were not part of Draco's selfish vocabulary. It was generally 'me,' and 'I.'

Draco continued calmly, "Everyone has accidents."

_Wait for it_, Hermione thought cynically.

"Well, everyone except me."

_Bingo._

"Pathetic," Hermione muttered.

Draco smiled smugly, "drink your tea."

Hermione scowled, but didn't argue further. She reached for the proffered cup.

Draco added the falsetto to his voice again.

"So, now we are all settled, and calm, and completely over the house elf affair, I do declare, Miss Granger, that we gossip."

Hermione sipped her tea through pursed lips whilst she silently fumed.

_"Don't vent your rage at me, you're the one who slipped up after all." WHAT AN OBNOXIOUS PIG!_

She eyed Draco scathingly, not at all impressed by his attempt to lighten her mood.

"What shall we gossip about, Miss Granger?"

Hermione ignored him, focusing instead on gulping down her tea.

Draco was persistent. His voice rose to a ridiculously high height.

"Boys?" He tried.

Hermione felt her eye twitch involuntarily.

"Love?"

She shook her head, no.

"Clothes?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, and raised the teacup to her lips to drain the last of its remains.

"Well then, what about House elf romance?"

This was completely unexpected, just as Draco had planned. Shock winded Hermione. It seemed to rip every gasp of air from her lungs, leaving her struggling to breathe. Red spots danced before her eyes. She inhaled suddenly- a reflex action- and choked on the tea. She spluttered and coughed, her lungs were screaming for air. Tears streamed down her face. Draco stared at her, his eyes wide.

"Granger, are you okay?"

Hermione wanted to scream that, no, thanks to him, she was once again not okay (she was actually, quite far from okay) but was forced to concentrate on trying to not suffer 'death by tea.'

Draco laughed, "Because if you're not, that would make this even funnier!"

Hermione continued to choke on the tea. She managed to cough out a weak cry, "help."

Draco smirked, "I don't have my wand on me sI'm afraid."

Hermione gurgled, "hit- back!"

Draco sighed. He thumped her on the back- hard (too hard, in Hermione's opinion). She coughed up the tea dregs. Hermione later reflected that, perhaps, she should have just let Draco use a spell. His indecisiveness would have, of course, caused Hermione to choke to death, but, as she later considered, perhaps she would have suffered less. In the past she had experienced similar situations with a variety of juices, milks and other such beverages. All of which had been expelled through, not her mouth, but her nose, via a hard thump on the back.

As was tradition, the liquid bypassed her major airway and tea remnants shot out her nose.

Draco burst into a peal of laughter.

Hermione burst into tears.

_I can't win._

Draco's laughter halted.

"Come on Granger, you've got to admit, you're pretty hopeless. That was pathetically hilarious. You looked just like a snorting pig!"

Humiliation coloured Hermione's cheeks. She put her face in her hands, and wept into her lap, defeated.

"Granger?" Draco tried softly, his tone now humourless.

Hermione shook her head. She'd had enough. She no longer cared what Draco thought of her. She couldn't care less. It was all too much. For the first time since she had been kidnapped, Hermione realised she was not in control. She was trapped, just like the nightingale. And, just like the nightingale, she too was slowly, but surely, dying. Draco had broken her spirit.

"I just- I just- I want t- to go home," Hermione sobbed, "I-I want my family- a- and- ha-Harry- R- RON! And I- I w-want t-to see the s-ky- t-the st- stars!"

She expected this news to prompt Draco into launching into another one of his "women's emotional rubbish put us behind schedule" rants. Frankly, she couldn't bear to hear his tirade. She couldn't bear to hear him speak.

Draco then did something completely unexpected; he pushed the tea set off the bed. It smashed into the cool stone below. The sound of crashing china ricocheted throughout the tower. Thousands of splintered pieces tinkled against the tower floor.

This snapped Hermione out of her teary reverie. She looked up. Draco gazed at her. His eyes glittered dangerously. He proffered his hand to Hermione. Her sad eyes met his flashy, intense look and a shot of electricity coursed through her veins. Fear struggled to overpower her sorrow; intinct told her to fear Draco's sudden kindness. She shied away from his hand. Draco reached out and grabbed her tiny paw. Their gaze shattered as Hermione blinked. Tears rolled down her pale cheeks.

She decided she didn't care what happened next. Draco could put her under the Imperious Curse; she would prefer it to her current torture. Draco pulled her off the bed silently.

_This is the end. I will be imperiorised. Harry and Ron will perish. I too will be disposed of. I'll never see my family again. It's over. If only I was stronger…I could have endured this pain and saved my friends. But, I'm not. I can't. I really am the damsel in distress…I can't save myself… I have to be saved! I am a stupid fairytale!_

She followed Draco to the door. He tapped his wand on the heavy wooden frame, and it swung open. The spiral stairs Hermione had struggled against so fiercely when she had first arrived at Malfoy Manor seemed easy to trample now.

_It's because I'm not fighting against destiny… I'm embracing it…_

This thought disturbed Hermione. She shuddered as she silently padded the steps behind Draco. Their journey was long. Draco never seemed to loosen his firm, yet gentle, grasp of her hand. He held her carefully, as if afraid she might break. This surprised Hermione. _What difference does my condition make now? Crush my hand if you desire it Malfoy! I could do with the distraction._ She thought bitterly.

When they at last descended the tower steps, Draco made a series of quick, successive turns. He darted about the maze of darkened stone corridors as quick as winking. Hermione's confusion grew.

_Why are we running?_

Draco moved as fast as a Nimbus 2000. Yet, Hermione found she did not have to struggle to keep up. Her tears blurred her vision. She was soon completely reliant on Draco's agile feet. Her heart pounded in her chest.

Fear trickled down her spine; what if she became lost in the dark blurred maze? Hermione felt herself tighten her hold on Draco's hand.

Draco turned his head in surprise. He winked, and Hermione felt her knees buckle. Now she was really confused. She stumbled, slowing their progress. Draco didn't falter for a moment. He tugged her upright again, and pulled her along. Turning to her once more, he whispered, "Trust me."

A million thoughts exploded into her head at once. They whizzed about like fireworks. One seemed to screech out above the rowdy commotion.

_WHY? Why should I trust you? You have tortured me with your cruelty. You have made me criticise myself and second-guess my own beliefs. You have weakened me. You have embarrassed me. You have laughed at me. You have frightened me. You have locked me in a cage and starved me of affection and kindness. So much so, that whenever you throw me a scrap of humanity, I feast upon it! For it is always short lived, always followed by more hate, more cruelty. You have hurt me Malfoy, scarred me. Oh yes. Your antics have caused me grief. If it had just been mere grief, I think I could have withstood such pain. No, what has finally sapped me of my strength is none of these vices. What hurts me most is not your arrogant, obscene, unruly, unkind, pretentious talk…no…what hurts me the most is that deep down, Draco Malfoy, I know you are a good person. And deep down, I think that you know it too. But you choose to ignore it. This is something that I don't understand. And now probably never will. I have at last accepted it; you are a puzzle I can't solve._

_'Trust' you? I could never trust you Malfoy, because you deceive everybody, including yourself._

Hermione felt Draco speed up.

_The truth is, I'm too tired to keep trying to solve the puzzle, too tired to work out how to save my friends. Draco, you have exhausted me. The tower has exhausted me. Without inspiration- even just a little freedom to light my darkened path- I am stuck._

Hermione narrowly missed slamming into a stone gargoyle- proof Draco was ever vigilant.

_If I am injured now, what does it matter?_

She shut her eyes, and placed herself wholly and completely in Draco's care.

_Why not?_ She thought recklessly.

She felt them begin to rise- Draco was ascending another staircase.

_Lucius's chambers must be up here._

Round and round the spiral stairs. Up, up, up. Always higher. Always faster. Dizziness overwhelmed Hermione. How she longed for the journey to end.

At last, they seemed to reach the final step. Draco slowed to halt. Hermione heard a door unlock and creak open. Draco led her through the arch. Her bare feet padded over cold stone. A light breeze brushed over her face. It whipped her hair about her shoulders playfully.

_How lucky, _Hermione thought, _Lucius is. He has open windows in his room._

A fresh wave of tears stung her eyes.

Draco chuckled softly.

"Still sad Granger? Silly girl. Open your eyes," he instructed.

Hermione did so. She blinked, sensitive to the sudden burst of light. Shapes and figures slowly clarified. When, at last, her vision had sharpened fully, she let out a yelp of joy.

She was _not_ in Lucius's room.

She was not going to be placed under the curse. She was going to crack the riddle that was Draco Malfoy.She was going to save her friends. She was going to save herself.

She was new and fresh and energetic and glad all at once.

She was outside.


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

**Starry Night**

It was a beautiful clear night. An ivory full moon hung low in the deep blue black of the sky, surrounded by twinkling stars. The air was crisp and fresh; Hermione felt she had never tasted anything so sweet.

She glanced around. They were at the top of another tower. A low stonewall fenced the circular area, preventing them from toppling to the ground far, far below.

She closed her eyes and listened to the darkness. Crickets chirruped. Trees rustled as the breeze gently brushed against their leaves. Somewhere, far away, a creature howled a mournful tune. The eerie song chilled Hermione. She shivered.

"Are you cold?"

Hermione opened her eyes. Draco stood beside her; watching intently. Hermione opened her mouth to tell him it was not the cold that made her shiver, but Draco was already removing his dressing gown. He slung the black silk robe over her bare shoulders.

Hermione looked up at him- her eyes bright and round- full of questions.

Draco gazed at her sadly.

Hermione's already brimming eyes, overflowed with tears. She ran into Draco, and latched onto his middle. Draco stood stock-still, his arms pinned to his sides, whilst Hermione sobbed into his shirt.

They remained entwined for a long while, before Draco finally pulled away from the embrace.

"Granger, what's gotten into you? Get off me!" He mumbled sounding embarrassed.

Hermione dabbed her eyes with the sleeves of Draco's dressing gown.

_What's gotten into me, Malfoy, is a little perspective._

"Thanks," she said softly.

Draco looked at her. A little smile played across his face.

"Come on," he said, "I want to show you something."

He grabbed her wrist and tugged her towards the stairs. Hermione turned to farewell freedom. The stars winked at her, wishing her goodbye and good luck.

Hermione winked back before being dragged down the spiral staircase, into the depths of Malfoy Manor.

"Malfoy, where are we going?" Hermione asked as she bumped along the gloomy corridors.

Draco called over his shoulder, "curious thing, aren't you Granger? Just wait and see."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but Draco beat her to it, "and would you please be a little quieter Granger? You aren't supposed to be out of your room."

A sudden thought hit Hermione.

_Malfoy could get into big trouble for this. If his father found out..._

They stopped in front of a large portrait of a portly man drinking rum.

"Bit late for it, isn't it Master Malfoy?" The man slurred drunkenly.

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I could say the same for you Reginald. _Fizzing whizbees_."

Reginald gave a huff, and swung left revealing a small gaping entrance.

Draco stepped through first, and then pulled Hermione after him. The portrait swung shut behind them, cutting off Reginald's gruff complaint (_"bloody young pups, why in my day-")._

The room had, obviously, been a dungeon at some stage. Damp stonewalls enclosed the windowless room. The ceiling was low. Stoves, cupboards and cluttered bench tops appeared to have been crammed into the room. Three house elves scurried about the surprisingly clean cobbled stone floor. In the far corner, a sink overflowed with dishes.

"This, Granger, is the kitchen."

Hermione eyed the bustling area with interest. Steam wafted about the kitchens, clouding the air as multiple pots bubbled atop the stoves.

"Um, Malfoy, isn't it about midnight?"

Draco smirked, "yes. Why? A little past your bedtime is it?"

Hermione frowned, "no, Malfoy, but it is quite a lot past dinner time. If everyone is asleep, why are these elves still up cooking?"

Draco stared at Hermione as if she were mad.

"Granger, the kitchen never closes."

Hermione shook her head in confusion.

"But _why_ does it never close? You only have three people living here!"

Draco laughed.

"Three people? Whatever gave you that idea?"

Hermione blushed, indignant.

"Well, your mum, your pa and you."

Draco rolled his eyes, "We have many people staying here. There are elves, and guests, Mrs. Potts and Mr. Potts. It's not just 'the family.' Have you seen the size of this place, Granger?"

Hermione scowled.

"We always have guests. Father has his friends, or colleagues, over quite often."

The term 'Colleagues' chilled Hermione to the bone.

_Colleagues? Deatheaters more like._

"So how many House elves do you have working for you in total?" She asked, steering the question towards a different subject.

"We have six in the kitchen- three day staff and three night staff. Then there are the two maids, a butler and Mrs. Pott's helper, Button. We did have another servant. He helped Mr. Potts. That idiot Potter freed him though."

Hermione smiled, remembering her favourite little House elf, Dobby.

Draco continued, "That's nine in total."

"You have nine elves?" She asked, surprised.

Malfoy shrugged, "like I said, it's a big place."

Hermione was dumbfounded.

"Here, there's someone I want you to meet."

Draco waved over one of the House elves. A small one near the sinks dropped the pile of carrots he had been carrying and darted over. On his head he wore a white neckerchief like a bandana whilst his torso was clothed in a dirty white tea cosy.

"Master Malfoy?"

The elf bowed.

"This, Granger, is Merry."


End file.
